The Powers in Life - The Power of Change
by PowerOfOne
Summary: Change (n): an event that occurs when something passes from one state or phase to another. Sometimes, change can be good. Sometimes, it can be bad. And yet, there are other times, when change is simply what it is - something passing from one state to another. When the Boy-Who-Lived is sent to Azkaban, change has occurred. But more importantly, more change is certainly on the way.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Of the charge of four accounts of murder?"

". . . Guilty," the wall of faces above him chanted as one.

"Of the charge of conspiracy to murder?"

". . . Guilty," rang out the chant once more.

"And finally . . . of the charge of consorting with a known criminal, public enemy number one, mass murderer, rapist and terrorist, who has violated the laws of nature and of our country, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Like the end of a prayer, the closing words of a solemn hymn, or perhaps the last sound in a deadly mantra, the verdict rang clear, echoing of the empty walls of the room.

"We find the defendant . . . Guilty."

"Then this court," announced the judge in a louder tone, his voice easily reaching the journalists and reporters who had until now been sitting in silent anticipation, and who now erupted into a flurry of scratching quills, "Guilty on all three charges. Based on the evidence presented here today, the defendant is sentenced to a lifetime imprisonment in the prison of Azkaban. May his punishment provide some sort of marginal compensation for his heinous crimes, and may his years there allow for him to repent in solitude."

There was a moment of silence broken not even by the restless scraping of quill on parchment.

"Then this court case for Harry James Potter . . . has been concluded."

It was as though a barrier, or perhaps some sort of charm, had been placed over the crowd when they first came in, ensuring their silence, had been lifted. The room that had been so quiet that one could hear the drop of a ping now erupted in pandemonium as each and every person stood in their shouts and raised their voices in a cacophony of chaos. They did not shout their support of the defendant, however, despite who he was. Instead, they jeered and taunted him, swore and insulted him, they told him they hated him, that everyone would hate him and still hate him in a hundred years time, they told him that he deserved what he got, they told him that they hoped he rotted. . .

And in the midst of it all, one girl sat still, her warm brown eyes watering with tears that never fell, even as her body was still rigid with shock. Those who knew her, even her closest confidants whom she used to tell everything, took no notice of her due to their immersion in the current events. Though her head didn't even twitch, the girl followed the defendant with her gaze as he was led in chains out of the box and through the door at the back of the room, where she lost sight of him. Even then, she did not move, did not let those jostling her with their movements affect her, as she stared straight ahead.

The defendant knew none of this. If the girl had been shocked, then he was many times more so. The guards, tired of his lack of response, dragged him from the room and through that back door, down the hallway and towards the cells. They opened one, shoved him in and locked the door. Then they left, leaving him in darkness as they returned to the light. The defendant knew none of this, for he only stared straight ahead.

For three days, he sat on his cot. He did not remember climbing to his feet, but he must have, for it was as though all he had ever known had been wiped from his memory, until all he could recall was sitting on that bed in the darkness, staring at the wall that he could only just make out. By the time they came for him, he could have drawn it from memory, down to the smallest scratch, from memory.

He did not remember sleeping, but he must have. The human body, as far as he knew, almost definitely could not go for that long without any sleep. He didn't sleep much, however. No doubt there was plenty of time for that during his sentence.

On the third day, there were footsteps in the hallway. The clunk of the keys were heard and his cell door swung open, to reveal a different set of guards. They cuffed him and dragged him through the hallways that seemed to him like a maze, until they came to a small room. There was a metal bar lying on the floor, which they forced him to grab, with them holding on to either end. The defendant felt a jerk behind his navel, a disorientating sensation of being stuck in a whirlwind, and then his feet touched the ground. He wasn't used to standing, so he collapsed.

tThe guards weren't patient. They kicked him in the ribs and dragged him to his feed. They led him through yet more corridors, these ones made of what looked like solid stone, descending deeper and deeper into the fortress of Azkaban. Once they had reached their destination, which the defendant had absolutely no idea of, they shoved him into yet another cell.

The dementors had long since left Azkabban to join Voldemort, but even so, the walls still spoke of unmentionable and undeniable sadness. The air itself tasted of it.

The door slammed once again, but this time, there was light, coming from a single, barred windows right up against the roof. Only this time, because of the chill, the defendant wished there was no window at all. It was too cold.

The first day, he thought they would come get him eventually, realise there had been some mistake. After a week passed, he thought they had found new evidence and were currently investigating it. After that he lost track of time, but he knew they were coming for him, sooner or later.

It must have been more than a month after he had been incarcerated that he acknowledged the truth that he already knew but simply ignored. They weren't coming, and they never would be coming for him, because to them, he was a criminal.

And so the Boy-Who-Lived went to Azkaban.


	2. Chapter 1 - Escape

**Chapter 1 - Escape**

Cold. He had never thought there could be so many different types of cold in the world, but in five long years, he had experienced them all.

There was the icy chill in his heart, when he realized that no one believed him. He felt it when he gazed imploringly on their faces, only to see mixed expressions of disgust, fear and, most of all, hatred. He felt it when they jeered at him from the other side of a line of Aurors and taunted him as he was led away. It was an icy chill that he thought he would never be free of, but then he felt the cold of Azkaban, and it soon drowned out everything else.

The Azkaban cold was omnipresent. It existed everywhere, and surrounded him at all times. It permeated from the walls and radiated from the bars, it was present in the frozen food the guards laid before him. It had evaporated into the air and been absorbed into the ground, it clung to his clothes and seemed to imbue itself to his very being so that he felt as though he would never be free of it. It was a physical chill, but made all the worse due to his inability to escape it, not even deep in the recesses of his mind, for it no longer belonged to him, but do the dementors who, though they had long abandoned that bitter fortress they had called their home, had nevertheless not failed to leave their mark.

But then there had been that cold calmness he had felt, it seemed so long ago now, when he had finally come to the conclusion that Azkaban was where he would die, and it would be on his own terms. Surrounded by the physical chill, his mind now embraced the mental one – that, at last, it was over. He cursed himself for, had he come to such a conclusion sooner, he would have spared himself much misery. Regardless, the time was now here, the time for him to let go. Azkaban's cells were barren, with only a simple, cold, hard cot and a stone toilet that fell away into the sea and rocks below, but a resourceful prisoner always had a way, such as attacking a guard, starving themselves, or ramming their head into the wall.

He had heard tales of such things from the other inmates, on the rare occasions when they were coherent and sane. They didn't tell him stories for his own benefit, however. They told him to torture him, in the hopes that doing so would alleviate some of the chill that was affecting them by heaping it onto another. It didn't work, and they went mad anyway.

He always asked himself why, having come to such a conclusion, he never carried it through. Perhaps it was because the guards never came, and the food that had been magically transported to his cell was always too tempting, despite its low quality, to pass up, and he wasn't sure he could ram his head into the wall hard enough to actually off himself, rather than just give himself an unbelievable amount of pain, injury and concussion. Whatever the reason, he was still alive when he experienced another type of cold.

It was the cold chill of excitement, the type that ran down his spine and made him shiver. It was the sense of breathless anticipation and overwhelming relief, and it presented itself when, for the first time since they had locked his door five years ago, Azkaban's Auror guards had opened to door, intending to bring him to some sort of meeting. He had not caught the exact purpose, for he had not bothered to listen, but he felt the cold when they brought him out of the cell block and into the waiting room.

For he had seen them on his way in – _brooms_. Not just any brooms, but sturdy, Wizarding, flyable brooms. He felt the chill running down his spine then, the chill of excitement. Here, finally was his chance.

Not to escape, of course. Despite his years of suffering, he was not delusional enough to think that he could, in his weak, emaciated condition, escape from highly trained Aurors. No doubt they would catch him and bring him back, and put him in worse conditions for his attempt. But he was sure that, if anything, his years of incarceration had taken away nothing from his flying skill. He could gain some precious minutes of freedom. He might not be able to escape permanently, but all he had to do was put enough distance between him and his captors so that he could jump off. The rocks surrounding Azkaban were hard. They would kill him instantly.

It was his overestimation of his own skill, or his underestimation of that of the Aurors, or perhaps a combination of both, that caused him to feel yet another different type of cold. He had taken the Aurors, who weren't expecting his sudden boost in strength propelled by sheer willpower, completely by surprise. He had barged out of the room, and into the hallway. There had only been two Aurors, and they both wasted precious seconds unlocking the door that he had locked manually. By that time, he had taken the broom and was in the air.

There was only one broom left, so only one of the Aurors could come after him. But that Auror was unusually talented, and stayed close on his tail. Nonetheless, there was enough distance between them, so he jumped.

He jumped as the Auror, who on hindsight probably thought he was trying to escape, shot a spell at him.

It propelled him far further than he intended, and for the briefest of moments, he felt as though he was truly flying, without a broom. Then he started to fall. He started to fall, faster and faster, and he felt cold. Cold with fear. For, in those few seconds before he reached the rocks, he realized that he didn't want to die, after all. He wasn't sure what there was waiting for him at the prison, but, for some reason that wasn't even clear to him, _he didn't want to die._ But, of course, by that time the matter was out of his hands.

He fell, and he hit, not the rocks, but the water way past them. He had flown much further than he thought, carried by the storm that was ever present around Azkaban, and had totally bypassed the jagged boundaries of the prison. His height caused him to shoot like a bullet deep into the sea, and he felt the final type of cold – the icy, frozen, bone chilling, muscle debilitating, action preventing frigidness of the sea.

He couldn't move, he couldn't respond. He couldn't breathe, and there was nothing he could do about it. He tried to make his limbs operate like they were supposed to, he tried to propel himself back to the surface – surely the Auror would save him even though he was a prisoner? – but he couldn't, and so he sank. Just when he realized he wanted to live, Harry Potter came to the deduction that he was about to die . . .

* * *

That was why the warmth he felt next was so unexpected. Surely, he was dead? But then again, the dead couldn't feel anything.

Which meant, fortunately, he wasn't dead.

It was amazing how exhausting doing something as simple as opening his eyes could be, but with what seemed like super-human strength, he managed to do so, and was greeted by the sight of a plain, beige coloured roof in an obviously well lit room. For a few moments, he simply lay there, trying to work out why something as simple as a beige coloured wall would seem so confusing, but his mind felt sluggish and refused to co-operate. He was missing something, but _what?_

There was some sort of noise to his right, and it took him almost a full five seconds to associated it with the creaking of a door. Amazed that he had nearly forgotten something as simple as the sound of an opening door, he had just began to congratulate himself on his memory when the logical conclusion finally penetrated his mind and he whipped his head around.

He decided that doing so, especially so fast, wasn't a particularly good idea when a splitting headache almost struck him back into the land of oblivion. Unable to stop himself, he squeezed his eyes shut again and let out a painful groan.

"Oh!" whispered a startled voice, "you're awake! I was just about to change the towel."

Without his glasses, Harry couldn't make out any features of the figure standing next to the door, save the fact that she had brown hair that framed her face. He watched as she approached hesitantly and took a seat in a nearby chair, still, apparently, looking at him with, presumably, concern.

"How are you feeling?"

Instead of replying, Harry tried to ask her where he was, and who she was, but all that came out was a pitiful croak. The woman seemed to know what his problem was immediately, for she reached past his field of vision and picked up a cup with a straw in it that must have been sitting on a beside cabinet or table, and held it up to his mouth.

For a few seconds, he had a very Mad-Eye like urge to refuse. Never eat or drink something from an enemy, and he wasn't if the young woman, for he could see now that she can't have been much older than him, fell into such a category. Eventually, however, the thirst that he hadn't even acknowledged or realized he'd had won out and he took the offered straw in his mouth.

The water was the best water he'd ever had. It seemed sweet to him, but perhaps it was because he was simply too used to the stale concoction served to him while in prison. He gulped it down greedily, feeling a pang of annoyance at the limiting effect of the straw.

Despite his acceptance of her aid, however, Harry was well aware of the pregnant silence in the air. The tension caused by their lack of information about the other was so thick it could be cut with a knife. He was bursting with questions. Where was he? Who was she? How did he get here? What happened? And he was sure that there were things she wanted to know about him, too, but she waited until she was sure he was finished quenching his thirst before she spoke, her voice so quiet it was as though she was at his death bed. In anyone else, he might have found it annoying, but for some reason, appreciated her lack of volume.

"My father," she explained, gazing intently at his face as though she hoped that it might tell her some of his story, "is a fisherman. He found you floating face down in the water on Wednesday, right in the middle of the sea. At first, he thought you were already dead, but of course, even if you were, he couldn't just leave you there."

She paused, as if expecting him to respond, but when he remained silent, she continued. "Father told me he nearly lost you in the storm, but somehow he managed to get a grip on your shirt, ragged and fraying though they were, and dragged you on board. That's when you woke up. You acted like a madman, seizing his shirt and shouting incomprehensible things – he said you'd were talking about demented people, calling them wizards . . . but then you pleaded with him to take you away from that place, I think he said you thought it was a prison or something, and with no better place to take you he brought you home."

Carefully, her eyes, brown, he realized now that she was closer, searched his face for some sign of recognition, a hint that he remembered at least part of what she was telling him. Clearly, she didn't find what she was looking for, for she asked in a worried tone "You don't remember any of this at all, do you?"

Harry started to shake his head, but he remembered what had happened the last time he had tried that just in time, and instead settled for croaking a faint, barely audible 'no'. She nodded, as if she had expected as much, and shrugged.

"We weren't sure you were going to make it for a little while. This is the first time since the boat that you were awake! You were so pale, and had an almost unbelievable temperature. Add to that the fact that you looked like you haven't had a proper meal in months. . ." Sighing, she tentatively reached out and patted his shoulder, "My father will no doubt want to ask you for your story once I tell him you're awake, but don't worry. I'll convince him to wait, you don't like you could handle it right now."

Harry opened his mouth to thank her, but though his jaws moved, nothing came out. She seemed to understand, however, for she gave a small smile and stood.

"I'm glad you've finally woken," she told him gently, "You should get some more rest." That said, and without giving him an opportunity to reply, not that he really could, she left, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Left alone in the room, Harry realized that there was no way he could possibly tell the young woman's father his story. Not only would it be incredibly hard to believe for a muggle, for surely that was what the girl's family was seeing as she didn't recognize him despite his scar, but also if her father did believe him, then he would know that he had just rescued an escaped convict. The first thing he would do would be to contact the proper authorities.

Harry couldn't have that. He had tried to kill himself, and when that hadn't worked, he'd been relieved, because he had wanted to live after all. Now that he was also, to an extent, free, he found that he would do anything than be returned to that god forsaken island to be punished for something he didn't do.

And so, his only option, was to get out of that bed and simply leave. Now that he was conscious, and reasonably healthy, if he could just muster up the strength to go somewhere and recover, he would be fine. The problem was that he couldn't summon up what he didn't have, and strength was top of that list. As if his body was desperate to prove him right, Harry fell into a deep slumber before he could formulate any more thoughts.

**A/N:**

**Hey guys, hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! It's out later than I said it would be, and much later than I would have liked, and there's a very simple reason for that – my sense of perfectionism. I had written this chapter before, but I looked at it and decided I wasn't happy with the result, so I went back and rewrote the whole thing, haha.**

**Hopefully, this time, it reaches the standard of the prologue ****which all of you seemed to enjoy :P** (that is, after the reception of the prologue, I hope this chapter keeps people interested...).

**Special thanks to kiwifan13 and Tronishere for reviewing, I honestly didn't expect any for the first chapter, so you guys are AWESOME. **

**Tronishere, I fully plan to and finish this story, even if no one reads it anymore, just to prove I can actually write something more than oneshots lol, so never fear!**

**In addition, I received 8 alerts to people following, 91 views, and 2 people have favourited my story – it made me so pumped, I didn't expect there to be this positive a result! Sorry, I just had to get that out of my system:D. Don't worry, my next author's note won't be this long, and next chapter should be out in a similar time frame.**

**PowerOfOne**


	3. Chapter 2 - Padfoot and Prongs

**Chapter 2 - Padfoot and Prongs**

Calm. Peaceful. That was what the horizon looked like that day. That was what the sea was like that day. Calm and peaceful, a world apart from the raging storm over the middle of the North Sea. And in the middle of that storm, like a jagged shard of Hell had somehow managed to push its way into the world of mortals, was a monumental piece of black stone, as sharp, rugged and unforgiving as the roughly hewn prison that sat atop of it. From where he stood on the shore, gazing out to sea, it was difficult to imagine that a place such as Azkaban existed at all.

He didn't need to imagine it, however, for he saw it often in his dreams, as clearly as though he was standing before it. He saw it because he had been brought there. He saw it because it was in that prison that he wasted five years of his life, spending each second of every minute in almost unendurable torment. Many go mad in there, someone had once said to him, and even now, he wondered that he had not gone mad himself.

After four months, the physical signs of his ordeal had all but disappeared. His face was no longer drawn, his hair no longer lay flat, unkempt and lifeless. The strength returned to his limbs, so that his hand no longer shook when he held it up in front of himself. He could grab things without them slipping through his fingers, and the strength had returned to his grip. Although he would always be on the thin side, the weight had returned to his body so that he no longer looked as though he was made up of only skin stretched over a skeleton.

It was in his mind that the scars still ran deep. His waking moments were spent in the quiet town of Bellamy. There, he found in the residents what many in the wider world lacked – acceptance, welcome, an open heart and an open mind. But each night, the oblivion of sleep took him hundreds of kilometers away, into the middle of the ocean, to the centre of the storm. There, like it had been waiting for him all along, stood Azkaban.

Anna Hawkins and her father, Christopher, never asked him any questions, not after that second day he spent in their care. They could tell, of course, that the story he had given them was simply a cover story, one that had more holes than Swiss cheese. But they didn't press him, perhaps consciously deciding that they didn't really want to know what he was involved in. For that, he was eternally grateful.

They were cautious. So would he, had he rescued a stranger from the middle of the ocean, one who looked like he had been tortured for months. The first few weeks, all three of them kept expecting something, anything, to happen. Anna and her father might have been expecting some crime syndicate or the like, but he was expecting something much, much worse – Aurors. No one ever showed up.

Nevertheless, he could not forgot the kindness the Hawkins showed him. Despite their fears that he might be dangerous, they took him in, cared for him and gave him shelter. They gave him aid when he needed it most and he was always on the lookout for opportunities to repay them. He washed their truck (washing his Uncle's car had given him more than enough experience in this field), he helped run the shop (a fish shop, ran by Anna while her father went fishing) and, when he was sufficiently recovered, he began working the heavy lifting, not just for Chris, but volunteering for anyone who looked like they could use the help. It was good exercise for him, as well.

Yet despite his adaptation to the changes in his life (he would never have in a thousand years believed in school that he would be working free of charge in a fishing town when he turned 20), old habits were hard to break. He acted as though he had his wand up his arm or in his back pocket, and he often found himself reaching for the nonexistent weapon when he was surpised. He flattened his hair over his scar when he was nervous. Sometimes, catching a flash of white, he would turn, half expecting his faithful Hedwig to fly up to him with a letter tied around her leg. When the bird turned out to be a seagull, as they always did, he would feel a pang in his chest, and he would wonder what happened to his oldest friend after his incarceration.

Another habit that was hard to break was his instinctive cautiousness. When he entered a room, he found himself surveying the occupants, fingers twitching towards his hidden wand. When strangers walked too close to him in the street, he would whirl, startled, only to be met by the confused gaze of the other pedestrians. Once, when Anna had tapped him on the shoulder to tell him that dinner was ready, he nearly hexed her. Despite not having anything to hex her with, the words had been on the tip of his tongue, reigned in just in time. After that, he had told her not to sneak up on him, spinning a story of learning to street fight and not wanting to accidentally hurt her. She didn't look like she believed this second story any more than she believed his first, but from that moment forwards, she made it a point to call out to him before she got too close to him.

Like she was calling to him now.

"Harry!" Turning from where he sat on the low wall, he saw her waving at him from across the road, her brown hair flying wildly in the sea breeze. That was another thing he still hadn't gotten used to – the constant storm-like winds, even on the sunniest days.

Running over, she stopped just in front of him. "Sitting by yourself wallowing in your top secret past again, Harry?" she teased, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as he faced the ocean again. The first time she had kissed him, he thought he would die of shock and embarrassment. Five years in Azkaban hadn't changed that about him. Since then, he had gotten used to her displays of platonic affection, something that he had only, very rarely, once associated with Hermione.

"Yeah, I was wondering when MI6 would send me their next orders," Harry replied, chuckling. Though he wasn't comfortable with discussing his past, he did appreciate Anna's refusal to give up trying. In a bid to make him feel more comfortable, she took to taking wild, ridiculous guesses at what he was hiding whenever she had the opportunity, coming up with working for the government to test UFOs, being an agent like James Bond, being a pirate trying to stake his claim over the 7 seas like the pirates of old, and even a druid who had lost control of a storm that he had been trying to create (this last was close enough to the truth that his heart had jumped, even though he knew she meant nothing by it).

"Well then," she said, the corner of her lips twitching in amusement, "Maybe you won't have to wait too much longer. Two blokes are at the shop, looking for you. Dressed quite strangely, too!"

Harry felt his blood go cold. "What?" he asked sharply, turning to look her in the face. "Did they say anything else?" As much as he wished she was just joking, it seemed she was telling him the truth this time. Despite her attempt to pretend nothing was wrong, he could see the worry in her eyes.

"No," Though Anna looked away, the wind carried her voice back to him, so that her words were perfectly clear to his ears, each word hammering another tendril of dread into his heart. "They just said that it was imperative they talk to you immediately on, and I quote, 'a matter of the uttermost urgency'. One of the men was holding something though, some sort of stick, if that means anything to you. Why? Is something wrong? Are they not the people you want to see?"

"No, no," Harry replied quickly, thinking fast. "Listen Anna, they probably want a private meeting . . . your dad should be back soon, can you go wait for him and let him know what's going on?"

Anna wasn't stupid, and he knew she saw through him at once, but even though she narrowed her eyes, she didn't contradict him. Standing, she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Be careful, ok?"

"Don't worry, I will. Nothing will happen." It was as much an attempt to convince himself as it was to convince her, and it failed on both occasions. He waited until hill blocked her completely from view. Then, his heart hammering, he stood and headed for the fish shop.

He didn't go in right away. Feeling a little like Mad-Eye Moody, he halted across the road, positioning himself behind a tree as casually as possible, and eyed the two men looking ill at ease standing outside the shop. Both wore a plain back robe with no hood and appeared of average height. Though he didn't recognize them, that definitely didn't mean they weren't Death Eaters, or possibly, Aurors.

One of the men wore sunglasses that completely hid his eyes. He didn't even bother hiding his wand, and held it tightly in his right hand, head on a constant swivel as he surveyed the area. His partner looked only marginally more comfortable. Though he was not blatantly armed, his rigid posture revealed his tension. Up and down the street, the muggles were pointing and gesturing towards the two in what they obviously hoped to be an inconspicuous manner, but it was obvious the two wizards, for surely that was what they were, were well aware of the attention they were attracting.

At first, Harry was tempted to just walk away. Find Anna and tell her to inform them that he had disappeared and that she couldn't find him anywhere, or some other similar story. However, he couldn't, and wouldn't, let himself put her in harm's way like that. Seeing no other way forward, and well aware that they probably wouldn't have announced their presence if they were here to capture or arrest him, he cautiously stepped out behind the tree.

Sunglasses-man immediately noticed him, and tapped his partner on the shoulder. Both immediately started towards him, the other man drawing his wand as well. Just as Harry was beginning to think that perhaps he should have just run after all, he heard the two words that could make the situations so many times worse: the incantation for the killing curse.

Instinctively, he dropped to the ground, and felt the spell miss him by centimeters. What gave him pause wasn't the fact that a spell had been cast (he had been half expecting it anyway), but rather that he hadn't seen either of the men raise their wands before _Avada Kadava_ was shouted. Then, when he realized that the shop wall now had a smoking crater in it, his mind finally caught onto the fact that his attacker was behind him.

In the precious seconds of his indecision, his attacker could have easily cast again and finished him then and there. Fortunately, while he had been otherwise preoccupied, so had his attacker. The two men had begun casting as well, almost at the same time.

"_CONFRINGO!"_

"_EXPULSO!_"

"_REDUCTO_"

Before he could react, the air was suddenly filled with coloured beams, some being volleyed back and forth, some hitting walls and parked cars. The muggles screamed and ran as havoc reigned, but they were safe – no one was after them.

Harry barely dodged the next Killing Curse that the attacker, who, unsurprisingly, wore the black robes and silver mask of a Death Eater, sent at him, despite being in the middle of a two on one duel. As the Death Eater prepared try again, he grabbed the closest thing that he could and flung it with all his strength at the man. The metal bin lid smashed into the Death Eater's side and, though it did nothing to stop him from casting the spell, it threw his aim off enough that a hole blossomed in the wall above Harry's head. Stunned by the physical assault, the Death Eater had no time to react as one of the other two men threw electric blue curse that hit home, flinging him with a sickening crunch into the side a shop. As the dust settled, so too did the silence over the now mostly empty street.

"Check him!" Sunglasses-man gave a swift nod and, without even glancing at Harry who had just climbed back to his feet, moved towards the body of the Death Eater and gave him a swift kick in the ribs. When there was no movement, groan or other response from him, he bent down and placed two fingers on the mans throat.

"He's dead!" Sunglasses-man called back after a moment.

"Who are you?" Asked Harry warily as his eyes shifted back and forth between the two. Despite the fact that they had probably just saved his life, he couldn't bring himself to trust them just yet. Neither had bothered to sheathe their wands this time, and after what had just occurred, Harry didn't blame them.

"We can't tell you our real names here, Lord Potter." Explained the Sunglasses-man's companion with an apologetic expression. "Our mission was to bring you back with us. After what just occurred, I'm sure you are just as glad that we came."

"Sent? Who sent you?"

"Well . . ." the companion hesitated. "A group that has your best interests at heart. We need you, and from the looks of it, you need us."

"I'm sure," Harry commented dryly, noticing that the Death Eater's body had disappeared and Sunglasses-man now held a matchstick with the tips of two fingers, as if he couldn't bear to touch any more. "You'll forgive me if I don't believe, trust, or want anything to do with you until you explain yourselves."

Deciding that he could spare a look away, he glanced towards the direction of the docks, and was infinitely glad that Anna was nowhere in sight. _Although she'll probably know what happened soon enough anyway, with the way the muggles were running away,_ he thought with a barely suppressed sigh. This wasn't how he expected to tell her about his world. In fact, he hadn't planned to ever tell her about his world.

"What am I supposed to call you, then, if I can't know your names?" he continued, deciding to ignore the reference to 'Lord' for the time being. He didn't think anything would shock him anymore. Surprise him, but not truly stun him. The man's next words did just that.

"You can call him Padfoot. Call me Prongs."

**A/N: Awesome to see some more reviews! Glad everyone seems to enjoy this story as much as I am enjoying writing it! ****Tronishere, welcome back :P. Yes, five years have passed since Harry's incarceration (just gotta love that word) and in this chapter, four more months have passed so roughly five and a half years. Your guess about the reason they took Harry out of his cell made me laugh, haha. It's a cool idea, and I do love that irony, but my characters are a tad on the evil side so you were close (sort of) but ultimately mistaken. . . guess you'll just have to wait and see xD. Thanks for reviewing, Akasanta, mdauben, I do appreciate feedback as I don't have a beta.**

******On the same train of thought, if anyone sees any problems with any chapter I posted, such as incorrect spelling or sentences that don't make sense, or if you would like to offer your opinion on how I'm doing, leave a review! I don't really care if you flame, but constructive feedback is what allows writers to get better, after all. **

******Next Chapter coming soon!**

******PowerOfOne**


	4. Chapter 3 - Into The Midst

**Chapter 3 - Into the Midst**

"Call you what?" Harry asked blankly, staring at the man in front of him.

"Knew that would catch your attention," Sunglasses-man's companion nodded, reaching into his robes. "The number of people who know that name can be counted, even now, on one hand. I hope that convinces you that you can trust us, at least."

Harry snorted in derision. "Not bloody likely, seeing as the only other two people I know who are aware of that name I haven't seen in five years, after they betrayed me."

Sunglasses-man came over to stand by his companion, but before either could answer, the three of them were thrown to the ground by a deafening boom. Harry hit the bonnet of a parked car and heard a sickening crack as he dropped like a puppet without strings. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sunglasses-man and the companion fly in opposite directions, one hitting a tree and the other through a shop front. Groaning, he tried to force himself back onto his feet, head pounding as he looked for the source of the disruption.

It wasn't that hard to find. From both ends of the street, a wave of masked and hooded wizards approached, their wands out and ready. They held no particular formation, but were all the more formidable looking because of it, their ranks bolstered by what seemed like a never ending stream of apparitions. One of them gestured to his allies and in perfect sync, they raised their wands and prepared to cast.

"Here, Potter!" a voice called, wavering in pain. Turning, he managed to avoid the broom that Padfoot threw at him like a javelin. The five years in Azkaban hadn't dulled his Seeking ability. Instinctively, he reached out and snagged the broom out of the air, just before a dangerous jet of yellow passed through where it had been a few seconds earlier.

"FLY POTTER!" The man yelled, slinging a ugly orange beam into the crowd of Death Eaters. "GO! GET AWAY! FIND YOUR ANSWERS AT WHERE GRYFFINDOR'S SWORD APPEARED TO YOU!"

At first, Harry was tempted to ignore him and engage the Death Eaters head on. They were attacking the town that had saved him, and were a danger to Anna and her father. However, common sense won out. Not only did he not have a wand, there were far too many for him to fight, anyway. Leaping onto his broom, he ducked under another killing curse that hit the street light behind him, causing a shower of sparks, and rocketed into the air.

Behind him, he heard the Death Eaters shouting in frustration and anger as they tried to shoot him out of the sky, but seated on a broom, he was at home. Easily dodging the badly aimed shots, he raced down the road. At first, he thought he had lost them. That illusion was quickly dispelled when the Cruciatus Curse missed him by a fingernail. Swearing, he looked back to see five Death Eaters on his tail. The rest, it seemed, hadn't had the foresight to bring their own brooms.

_It's just like dodging bludgers_, Harry told himself as he ducked and weaved, trying to make himself a harder target. Spells whizzed past him chaotically in every direction, hitting cars in the street, buildings, trees and it seemed, everything except him. Turning a corner at break neck speed, he heard a sastisfying crunch when one of the Death Eaters reacted too slow and smashed into the wall.

As lucky as he had been so far to not get hit, however, he knew he couldn't keep it up forever. There were still four Death Eaters left, and they weren't going to just let him fly away. Reaching a split second decision, Harry tightened his legs around the broom's handle and willed it to stop. It did, stopping so suddenly that it bucked like a racehorse, almost throwing him off. However, he managed to just remain seated as his clothes rustled from the wind of the Death Eaters speeding past him. As soon as they were behind him, Harry found the Death Eater that seemed least comfortable on the broom. It wasn't that difficult, as the short, slightly overweight man couldn't help but let out an indistinct cry of fear as he tried to turn his broom to fast without preparation and nearly flew off.

Without waiting to see what the others would do, Harry aimed his broom at the Death Eater and coaxed as much speed as he could out of his own broom. It was only when he reached top speed in seconds that Harry looked down and saw the gold lettering along the broom's handle. _Firebolt_, he thought, grinning. _Nice._

Like a bullet, he shot past the short Death Eater and, proving why he had been the youngest Hogwarts seeker in a century, he reached out and snatched the man's wand right out of his hand. The man, already unbalanced, let out a loud squeal and he was now knocked clean off his broom and fell with a crash onto the roof of a parked taxi. Harry didn't wait to see what would happen next. By the time the other Death Eaters had even realised what happened, he was easily a hundred metres ahead. He heard them curse as they raced after him, but he knew they would never be able to hit him from that distance.

That didn't mean they couldn't follow him, however. Thankful for all the Quidditch training he had done at Hogwarts, Harry pulled up and over, flipping his broom upside down and pointing it backwards in a perfect manoeuvre. Spinning upright again, he shot toward the remaining three Death Eaters, raising his captured wand as he did so and taking careful aim.

"_Duro!_" he shouted. It was the first spell that came into his head. Although not exactly a spell suited for combat, in the air, it proved to be more than effective. The robes of one of the Death Eater's solidified and turned into stone. With a startled yell, the added weight turned the broom downwards, slamming him into the tarmac, the broom flying apart in an explosion of wood. The other two flinched, one of them a tad too much, crashing into the wall as he turned almost a full ninety degrees. The last managed to shoot through the pandemonium and shot another Killing Curse, which Harry dodged. As they passed one another, the Death Eater dove downwards to avoid a collision, obviously expecting Harry to pull up. Instead, he dove down as well, positioning his altitude just right. With a thud, Harry's right food made contact with the man's face (a serious Quidditch foul), and kicked him right of his broom to land heavily on the road with his friends.

The pounding of his blood in his ears and the rush of adrenaline in his veins drowned out everything else. Despite how quickly everything had gone to hell, all in one afternoon, Harry allowed himself a moment to observe the carnage before him and laugh. Only the short Death Eater wasn't unconscious, but he was in no state to move. The roof of the taxi had a sizable dent in it, in which the Death Eater lay, groaning in pain as Harry laughed in elation. Then, before any of the other Death Eaters could come and see what had happened to their five friends, he stuck his captured wand carefully in the back pocket of his pants and, picking a random direction, raced away.

Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror critically, brushing back his fringe to reveal the lighting shaped scar on his forehead. It was easily his most distinguishing feature, and it would have to go. Praying that he still remembered, at least somewhat, his charms and transfiguration lessons, he raised the captured wand and spoke the incantation. Before his very eyes, his scar seemed to stretch and distort, fading away until, quite suddenly, it simply wasn't there anymore. Tentatively raising his left hand to his forehead, Harry felt it, right where it should be. For all intents and purposes, however, it was as if he had never had one.

Grinning, he began working on the other parts of his looks. Firstly, he considered changing his hair colour. However, he couldn't bring himself to – it just didn't look right. Instead, he settled for letting it grow. Taking one of the cheap hair bands on the counter in front of him, he tied his new hair back into a ponytail. _Now I look like Bill Weasley_, he thought chuckling. _In fact, why not go all the way with the roguish look._

Waving the wand again, he caused what looked like liquid gold to trail from the end of his wand. It shimmered there, twisting and turning until in coalesced into a simple, gold earring, which he attached to his right ear with a simple flick. It wasn't really there, of course. He wasn't about to drill holes into his ears when he wasn't really going to wear earrings his entire life. Nonetheless, it served its purpose – it _looked _like he had some.

He wasn't really sure what he wanted to do with his eye colour. Green was a little too obvious, and he didn't want to settle for a colour that would look too unusual on a man with black hair. In the end, he settled for turning them into a dark brown. There wasn't really much to do for his face in general. The first thing he was going to do was get some contacts – his glasses were almost as big a giveaway as his scar. Until then, however, the only solution he really had was to take them and pretend that the world wasn't completely blurry to him.

He did change the other parts of his face slightly, however. There were slight changes to the shape of his nose, his eyebrows, his lips, even his chin. By the time he was finished, he looked in the mirror again to take in the whole picture and even he didn't recognise himself, despite knowing what to look for. _Good enough_.

He put the wand, his wand now, away just in time. The door opened and a group of middle aged men crowded into the bathroom. Harry pushed past them and back into the restaurant, striding quickly towards the exit. As he passed the front counter, he saw the owner give him a nasty look, as if to say "At least order something, you freeloader!" Harry ignored him.

The Knight Bus appeared with its usual, deafening _bang!_ Even though he had been expecting it, Harry couldn't help but give a small jump at the conspicuous purple vehicle's sudden appearance. With a hiss, the doors opened and Stan Shunpike, as odd looking and as pimpled as ever, descended to stand on the bottommost step.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus . . . emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is St-"

"I know who are you are Stan," Harry interrupted, "Do you mind? I have somewhere I need to get to."

It was quite possible that Stan had never been interrupted before (although on occasion he did forget to say the introduction, such as when he was shouting Harry Potter out loud in delight). For almost a full five seconds, he stood there blankly, and then his eyes narrowed. "Do I know ya? Lota strange witches and wizards trav'lling 'round these days. Lota bad 'uns. Can't be too careful." he asked suspiciously, studying the man in front of him carefully.

"No." Harry replied shortly, pushing past Stan and getting on board. "Here," he told Stan, shoving a pile of sickles into the bemused conductors hand. He had no real money, but it had been easy enough to transfigure a few sheets of toilet paper into what he needed. It wouldn't last forever, but hopefully they would last until he was at his destination.

"Leaky Cauldron," he informed Stan, taking a seat at the far back of the bus.

Stan the conductor closed his open mouth with a snap. "Right," he said, dragging his eyes away. "Take her away, Ernie!"

In almost six years, the knight bus hadn't changed. The jolting and the jostling motion of the bus made Harry feel as sick as the first time he had rode it, except this time, the discomfort was amplified by the bruises and injuries he had sustained in the fight on the street. Just because he had covered scratches on his face with didn't mean that they weren't there. In fact, if it hadn't been for the fact that he had no idea how to get to London by broom, had no access to floo powder and didn't know how to Apparate, he wouldn't have flagged down Stan and his demented bus at all. The frequent bangs produced by the magic of the bus made Harry's heart jump each time, out of pure instinct. They sounded way too much like he was about to get attacked for his liking.

By the time the Knight Bus stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron, night had fallen and Harry would have happily never ridden on it ever again (he remembered him, or someone around him, making that promise before, except this time, he actually intended to keep it). Swaying, he managed to not fall over on his way to the doors, and stay upright while the bus jumped away. Only then did he allow himself to push open the wooden doors to the dingy pub.

When silence greeted him, Harry was initially afraid that his spellwork had worn off and that someone had recognised him. Instead, he found the Cauldron to be almost completely deserted. Gone was the usual crowd that had filled the inn with their meaningless conversations and drunken arguments. Their absence seemed to leave an empty, cold void in the room that even the merrily crackling fire at one end of the room couldn't cure.

Tom the landlord hadn't changed much. To Harry, he seemed a bit more wary, a little more lean, perhaps, but still quite bald. In fact he resembled a toothless walnut more than ever. He sat at his own counter, a glass of what looked like firewhiskey in his hands.

"Business slow these days, Tom?" Harry asked, tapping the man on his shoulder. Tom whirled around and almost slipped off the stool.

"Huh?" He replied dumbly, staring at Harry through bloodshot eyes. "What sort of a bloody question is that? No one goes out these days, do they? Not with the Dark Lord doing whatever the hell he bleeding well likes with no one to stop him! Potter turns into a traitor, Dumbledore goes round the twist, Ministry of Magic as useless as ever, even after they rid themselves of Fudge . . ."

Harry felt a sense of dread creep into his body. _Of course, _he thought, giving himself a mental slap on the back of the head,_ how could I have not considered it? Six years of Voldemort doing whatever he wants, once I was gone. . . Dumbledore can't beat him, and Voldemort knows it._

Shaking himself back into the present, Harry eyed Tom dubiously. "Whatever," he said with forced nonchalance. "Are you sober enough to give me a room?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. . . upstairs, first door on your left." Tom raised the bottle to his lips, but there was none left. "Left to drink the contents of my own bar, that's what this world's come to. . ." he mumble as he stumbled around the bar to get himself another bottle.

It was so uncharacteristic for Tom to be so. . . uncharacteristic that Harry just stared. Apart from the looks, it seemed there was nothing of the old Tom in the man that he was looking at now. It was only when the empty bottle, left lying on the counter, rolled off and broke apart on the ground that he was able to tear his eyes away and head up the stairs. In his drunken state, Tom hadn't even asked him to pay! It suited him just fine – he wasn't sure his transfiguration skills were up to the challenge of lasting an entire night, anyway.

It was only when the door had finally closed, and Harry had thrown himself onto the bed staring at the ceiling, a heavy, oppressive silence blanketing room, that he allowed his thoughts to drift to the day's events. He wondered what happened to Prongs and Padfoot. How had they even known those names, anyway? He had never even gotten a chance to ask. And Anna! Hopefully, she had been sensible enough to run when she saw the commotion. Chances were, she never even got close to the heart of the commotion, and had been safe down at the docks.

_Find your answers at where Gryffindor's sword appeared to you, _Padfoot had said. It was easy enough to work out where he had meant. The Chamber of Secrets. Where he had claimed the sword and Gryffindor and defeated the Beast of Slytherin. But how the bloody hell was he meant to get into Hogwarts? And what was waiting for him there anyway?

Lying in the dark, alone with his conflicting thoughts, Harry realised just how much of his life had changed again. The peaceful, muggle existence he had thought he craved had been torn from his grasp. He was in a Wizarding Pub, having just been attacked by Wizards who wanted his head, and was now staying, without paying, in a Wizarding pub with a drunk, Wizard landlord who had basically told him the world outside had gone to hell. Once again, he was in the midst of a whole pile of troubles that he had tried so hard to leave behind.

The most depressing thing was, Harry wasn't even sure why he was there at all in the first place.

**A/N: SO... this is my longest chapter yet (they do seem to be getting longer, don't they?). This chapter took a long time come out, because what you just read was actually Chapter 3.3 lol. I wrote Chapter 3 three times, because I wasn't happy with the other two. To be honest, I'm still not entirely satisfied. . . does anyone else other than me think that this chapter moves WAY to fast compared to the others? *sighs* Oh well, at least with this part over, the others should HOPEFULLY be easier to write (because this is sort of a intermediary chapter between the REALLY important stuff).**

**Once again, thanks to everyone who reviewed the last Chapter! I'm so happy that everyone seems to be enjoying it, and I still can't believe I have as many favourites as I do haha.**

**Marinka, this fic is not completely AU, so yes, Prongs is his father. He also happens to be dead. Which means that this Prongs is not _the _Prongs. So who is he? :D**

**As for mdauben, Tronishere and nesciamema who are wondering what this group wants and who they are...I guess you'll have to wait and see lol :P. All will be revealed in due time, but Harry can't really do much from where he is currently, can he? He has to find his answers at where Gryffindor's sword appeared to him, after all!  
**

**As for when Harry was arrested, Tron, its not really a big secret, but I just had no opportunity to put it in, because Harry wasn't in any situation where he would be thinking of a particular time . . . in this Chapter there were some hints, however, so it shouldn't be that hard to work out. If you can't, it will be in one of the next few chapters anyway. . . I think :D.**


	5. Chapter 4 - Diagon Alley

**Chapter 4 - Diagon Alley**

History of Magic had never been Harry's favourite class. Professor Binns, the History of Magic professor, had never been the most interesting lecturer. During his years at Hogwarts, History of Magic had been just another lesson - an incredibly boring, almost certainly useless one. Why would he ever need to know the leaders of the last Goblin rebellion?

Of course, during his years at Hogwarts, he also never imagined that he would be framed for murder, become public enemy number two (the position of number one having been eternally set aside for Voldemort) and sent to Azkaban. He never imagined that he would follow in Sirius' footsteps and break out (albeit with a different method), nearly die in the North Sea, and end up back where he started, having just exited the Leaky Cauldron and wandered through the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley to stand gazing up at the massive marble monument to Wizard-Goblin relations.

It had been more than six years since he had last stood outside the burnished bronze doors of Gringotts. Behind him, the few shoppers that were about hurried past without looking at him, their hands full of their purchases, their eyes averted as if doing so would ward off trouble. The lively chaos that had populated the Alley during his visit seemed but a distant memory – it was hard to accept that he was standing in the same place at all. Most of the shops had shed their colourful displays in favour of large, ministry issue black and white posters emblazoned with the words WANTED and BEWARE. The sneering, scowling, smirking photos glared at those passing buy with contempt, reaching beyond the grainy paper to flood the entire district with an ominous, subdued atmosphere.

Only Gringotts remained the same. The lone Wizarding Bank stood as magnificently as it ever did, the building gleaming in the silent. The only sign anything had changed at all were the Goblins who flanked the doors, who had been replaced. In their place were six others, armed to the teeth with a variety of wicked looking Goblin weapons and clad in iridescent Goblin armour. Their presence alone had almost deterred Harry from entering. As it was, he stood just in front of the steps, bearing the heavy, suspicious looks of the Goblin guards as he nervously wracked his mind for anything from his History of Magic lessons that might indicate the Goblin nation's position in regards to escaped prisoners wanted for murder. He came up with nothing.

It was times like this that made him wish more than ever he still had his wand. The one he had taken served its purpose well enough, but felt distinctly uncomfortable in his hand. Rather than an extension of his arm, whenever he used it he acutely aware that, in the end, it was simply a carved stick of wood. However, in order to buy a wand, he needed money. He couldn't rely on transfigured coins for much longer without drawing much unneeded attention to himself. And to get money, he had to actually walk through those double doors.

As confidently as he could manage, Harry strode up the steps and brushed briskly past the guards, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible while wearing muggle attire. Had they shuffled, twitched or otherwise gave some sign of recognition, they would have been a tad less intimidating. However, they stood stoic and silent, their glares drilling holes into his body. Walking into the entrance hall of the bank was a relief – the guards had not so much as turned their heads and remained facing the rest of Diagon Alley like six, very scary, very ugly statues.

If the outside of Gringotts had remained markedly unchanged, the inside was even more so. The few times he had visited, there hadn't been that many customers. The fact that now there were no customers at all consequently made very little difference to the overall image. The two long, marble tables that lined the hallway on either side were still populated by as many goblins as ever, each of them seeming as busy as they ever had. They completely ignored him, thankfully, and Harry did his best to ignore them, as he approached the large desk at the end of the room and waited for the goblin seated there to acknowledge him. When it appeared no such acknowledgement was forthcoming, he cleared his throat, causing the diminutive creature to glance up sharply.

"I wish to enter my vault," he announced, noting with satisfaction that his voice did not waver, or otherwise present some sign of the nervousness that he could feel.

"And who," the Goblin asked, leaning forwards to study him as though he was some sort of particularly interesting insect, "are you?"

"That's not your concern. Here's the key," Harry replied, sneering as though daring the Goblin to disagree, "and the vault number is 687."

The Goblin leaned back, clasping its long-fingered hands together and resting them on the desk. At his nod, the doors of Gringotts slammed shut with a resounding boom that echoed throughout the hall. Like clockwork, each and every single Goblin glanced up simultaneously to stare at the front of the room and the lone wizard that had, by now, realised his disguised had probably been blown and was reaching for his wand.

"I wondered when we would be seeing _you _again, Mr. Potter." It wasn't a question.

Wand out, Harry backed away slowly, well aware that he was not only surrounded, but incredibly outnumbered.

"Come now," the head Goblin called, moving to stand in front of the desk, "If we meant you harm, you would be dead or captured already. As the situation stands, we have no love for the ministry ourselves. You have nothing to fear from us, Mr. Potter."

"You will let me access my vault in peace?," Harry asked, his head on a constant swivel as he attempted to keep all the Goblins in the room in view.

"Of course," the Head Goblin replied, inclining his head, "but there are additional . . . issues we must discuss. I give my word that we shall not attempt to harm you or cause any harm to befall you by handing you over to your Ministry. If you will follow me?"

Following the Goblin deeper into Gringotts was the last thing Harry wanted to do, but he recognised that he had very little choice in the matter. Returning his wand to his back pocket, he gave a stiff nod of consent. All around him, there was rustling and shuffling of papers as the other Goblins returned to their work.

The office of the head Goblin wasn't as lavish as Harry had expected. In fact, it was quite simple, with a plain oak desk in front of which sat two matching chairs. The walls were unadorned, and the only decoration in the room at all was the set of Goblin armour that sat on a stand in the corner of the room. It looked quite unlike that which the guards had worn, appearing many times more intricate and powerful. The only other item in the room that indicated that the office was intended for a Goblin, not a man, was the high stool that was positioned behind the desk.

It was onto this stool that the Goblin climbed, indicating with a simple gesture that Harry was to take a seat in one of the other two chairs. Only once Harry had sat did the Goblin begin making his introductions.

"You are Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, convicted murderer sentenced by the Wizengamot, deceased officially as of more than five years ago." The Goblin stated, staring at him with unblinking eyes. "My name is Ragnok. I am the manager of this bank." Before he could continue, he was interrupted by a single sharp knock at the door.

"Enter." The door opened to reveal a younger looking Goblin carrying a heavy folder, which he proceeded to drop onto the desk with a deep thud. Bowing, he left the room as Ragnok, who didn't even address the other Goblin, pushed it towards him. Hesitantly, Harry untied the string and opened it up to reveal page after page of official looking documents. Surprisingly, not all of them were bank statements, but that was the extent of his understanding.

"These," Ragnok explained in response to his unasked question, "are a collection of documents detailing the assets of three individuals who have holdings in our bank: you, Albus Dumbledore and Esthete Arc Stegert." The Goblin flicked a long finger, making the file rearrange itself into three separate piles. He picked up the top sheet on the leftmost pile and handed it to Harry, who read the title _ENTITLEMENT TO ASSET SEIZURE_.

"As your law dictates, the Ministry seized any asset that you owned not currently stored in your vault on the night of your conviction. The contents of the vault, too, will be claimed by the ministry upon your death, which was officially more than six months ago. The Goblin Nation suspected your survival despite the Ministry's word, however, and Gringotts has managed to delay the process for our own reasons. For the time being, the contents of vault 687 remain yours. However, the property known as Grimmald Place, was taken, as was Potter Cottage, Godric's Hollow."

"They think I'm dead and they took my house?" Harry asked quietly, feeling a pang in his heart. He wasn't even sure to which property he was referring. It had never occurred to him that his parents would have left the house to him, but it did make sense. He had never even been there, and the Ministry had taken it from him. And while he had never cared for Grimmauld Place, it was something that Sirius had left for him. He hadn't wanted it at the time, but it was still one of the only things he had of Sirius left.

"They took _both _your houses, Mr. Potter." Ragnok corrected, passing a sheet from the middle pile of papers to him. "Grimmauld Place was given to Albus Dumbledore in, and I quote, 'recognition of his long history of service to the Wizarding Populace of Great Britain'. We believe, off the record, that Dumbledore requested it specifically. As for Potter Cottage," Ragnok lips stretched oddly in what Harry assumed was a smile, "it was put under the hammer. Plenty of Wizards and Witches were interested in purchasing the house of the former Boy-Who-Lived, at a relatively low personal expense, when compared with the total wealth of Gringotts, we managed to secure the property. We would be happy to resell it to you, for a price. . . not much at all, in fact. One percent increase on the price we bought it for."

"Done." Harry said without hesitation. Taking the quill offered to him, he gave the contract Ragnok put in front of him a quick once-over, and signed on the dotted line. "What's the rest of this stuff then?"

"Ah," Ragnok replied, tapping a finger on the rightmost file. "This is where the majority of our business today lies, right here in this file. Mr. Stegert. Had we not done an inventory of your remaining wealth after the ministry seizure, Mr. Potter, it is likely we would never have discovered this at all. Mr. Stegert has been receiving weekly payments from your vault, starting from the 7th of November. As soon as Gringotts discovered this payment, and certified that you have never authorised such a transaction, we terminated the payments. Nonetheless, to date, you have lost approximately one hundred and ten thousand galleons." Though Harry found it almost impossible to identify Goblin expressions, he thought Ragnok looked truly apologetic. "Gringotts admits that it is at fault for failing to identify such a huge amount of unauthorised payments sooner. As such, we have compensated you fully, with the interest you would have gained from that amount."

"We also," Ragnok continued, ignoring Harry's outraged expression, "acted on our suspicious and inventoried the contents of Vault 771, the Dumbledore vault. It seems that Albus Dumbledore has also been making payments – a sum that, while not paid weekly, now totals almost fifty-eight thousand galleons. As a result, we became most interested in the financial activities of Mr. Stegert. However, we have failed to locate any wizard, or even witch, by that name who has had dealings with Gringotts bank who has a connection with either you or Mr. Dumbledore. It is there we ceased our investigation, wary of breaching the terms of our treaty with the Ministry of Magic. We did not see fit to discard our research, however. All of it, in fact, you see before you."

Much like he had done in the Entrance Hall, Ragnok laced his fingers and rested his hands in front of him. Harry had so many questions he wanted to ask, but nothing seemed to want to come out of his mouth. Though appearing outwardly calm, the Goblin's eyes took on a gleaming intensity that he had never before seen in a Goblin. "Let us be frank with each other, Mr. Potter. Did you, or did you not, kill the muggles Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, the squib Mrs. Figg and the late Minister Fudge?"

The question was worded almost identically to the one he had been asked more than five years ago as he sat in the chained chair in front of the Wizengamot. At the time, he had been scared, nervous and angry. Azkaban had a way of taking energetic emotions out of a person, and in the end, he had been left with nothing but a deep rooted bitterness. As he sat in that small office however, and heard Ragnoks query, he felt a small wave of the old irritation rise up within him, threatening to unleash the vast reserves of simmering anger and resentment that he didn't realise he'd had. "_No,_" he ground out, _"I didn't_."

There was a moments silence as Ragnok stiffened, the Goblin's black eyes boring into his. Suddenly, Ragnok's posture relaxed, smiling (at least Harry thought it was a smile) with satisfaction. "Very well, Mr. Potter. As it stands, the Goblin Nation does not believe you were guilty of the crimes for which you were convicted either. Unfortunately, we do not have a voice in Wizarding legal proceedings. Nonetheless, it is because of our belief in your innocence that we have operated with our best intentions regarding your affairs, protecting what we could of your property and securing your house."

"You believe I didn't do it?" Harry asked, half in disbelief. After he had been convinced, he would never have thought anyone would see him as a free man ever again.

"Do not incorrectly identify our actions as support, Mr. Potter." Ragnok told him with narrowed eyes. "The Goblin Nation does not wish to risk breaching any treaty it has with the Ministry of Magic. As such, we will offer no aid, financial or otherwise, to you regardless of your venture, past the services which we already guarantee to the rest of society. Despite this, however, Gringotts is sovereign ground, as is any other Goblin owned territory. The Ministry cannot make any arrests, or other attacks, on any individual in such an area without the approval of our King. Between you and me, the King will not be giving any such permission any time soon. Make use of this information how you will."

"I. . . I see." Harry said, unsure of quite how to respond. "I . . . appreciate the Goblin Nation's belief in my innocence. It's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't hate me. While I am thankful for your extension of asylum on behalf of your people, I'm afraid I can't stay away from the Ministry. It was my original intention, but . . . things have happened. I've met certain people who know me, though I don't know them, and they've given me a location which may contain information that I seek."

Ragnok nodded in understanding. "Very well. But rest assured that our doors will always remain open to you so long as you remain innocent of any crime. Goblins may place great value on gold, but let it be known that we value honour, and justice, above all else. If you truly wish to return, then we will not hinder you. Might I suggest, however, that you withdraw the entire contents of your vault? We will be unable to keep the Ministry at bay for much longer. Open another vault, if you require one, and let the ministry have an _empty _vault 687."

"I think I will. What's the procedure for applying for a vault?"

"Very simple," Ragnok explained, withdrawing a form from his desk drawer and handing it to Harry along with a quill. We will need the name of the vault owner, the type of vault – small with the lowest security, medium, the most common type of vault, or large with the highest security in the deepest levels – and your signature."

At first, Harry was about to write down his real name on the dotted line. Before he could do so, Ragnok discreetly cleared his throat. Harry gave himself a mental slap. Of course it wouldn't be advisable to write his true name. Not only was he a convicted murderer, he was a _dead _convicted murderer, after all. Instead, he carefully put down _James Evans_ as neatly as he could. Dudley Dursley hadn't been a big fan of police crime shows, but he had watched enough when the Dursleys were out to know that muggle police could use handwriting as a means of identification. Whilst not entirely certain Wizards ever did such a thing, he hoped that at least no one would associate the careful, flowing script with Harry James Potter.

As for the type of vault, that was something relatively easy to decide. Small probably wouldn't be able to store all his gold. Despite not being the type of person to flaunt his wealth, he wasn't ignorant; he was well aware that he was quite rich.

It was on the line asking for his signature that he paused. He hadn't had a real signature for his real name, not to mention his new, false one – he didn't even know cursive, something that had been taught in muggle primary school, but he had never learnt (mostly because he never had any opportunity to practise). As a result, even during his Hogwarts years, he had written in an untidy scrawl.

"You may use a drop of your blood, Mr. Potter." Ragnok told him, correctly guessing at the reason for his hesitation. Harry nodded and took the sharp needle like tool that the Goblin offered him. Eyeing the metal tip nervously, he punctured the tip of his index finger, oddly feeling no pain from the intrution. As he withdrew the implement, he noticed a single, ruby red drop of blood clinging onto the tip. Miraculously, his finger healed instantly, leaving not even a slight irritation to show that the skin there had recently been broken. As soon as the implement passed over the dotted line where he was supposed to sign, the blood fell, splashing in an even circle on the paper.

Immediately, Ragnok reached over and reclaimed the form, depositing it into yet another drawer. After a moment, the drawer was reopened and Harry saw two copies of the form he had just filled in. Ragnok stamped both and placed one into the folder contained the files. With a wave of his hand, the three piles of documents still lying on the oak desk collected themselves and slid smoothly into the folder as well.

"Very good, Mr. Potter. Your new vault is numbered 514. A key will be delivered to you by owl within a week. Until then, I trust one thousand galleons will suffice?" Ragnok waited for Harry's nod. "Very well then. Someone will bring your gold up for you shortly. The rest we will transfer for you." Almost as soon as the Goblin Manager had finished speaking, there was a polite knock on the door and the same younger Goblin from before entered the room, this time clutching a bulging money pouch which he deposited onto the desk in much the same manner as he did the folder.

"Undetectable extension charm." Ragnok explained, catching Harry's confused look. "We only keep it bulging because it seems customers are generally more satisfied when the pouch look more . . . substantial."

"Well then," Ragnok said, slipping off the stool and disappearing behind desk which was taller than him). "That concludes all the business we have today, I believe, Mr. Potter. I'm sure that there are many things you need to be doing."

Taking the money pouch in one hand, and the folder in the other, Harry followed the Goblin back into the Entrance Hall. The bronze doors had been reopened, the bank's guards in place as if they hadn't moved (which in fact was probably true). Despite this, however, the bank was as empty as it had been when he first entered, and Harry wondered if anyone had even noticed its temporary closure.

Ragnok interrupted his thoughts with a slight cough, giving what looked like a cross between a nod and a bow. "My people have a saying – no sword ever smelt itself. Nothing happens without reason. Keep that in mind as you sort through your affairs. It was a pleasure, Mr. Evans."

Harry paid as little attention to his surroundings as the few other shoppers did as he wandered down Diagon Alley. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't that surprised to hear that Dumbledore and the ministry had taken his stuff. After all, they believed he was a murderer who had allied himself with Lord Voldemort. Still, it didn't make the fact that he was no longer the owner of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, or that someone had tried to sell his parent's house, any less aggravating. The payments to Esthete Arc Stegert, ironically, was the one thing that he didn't really mind. Perhaps Stegert had been rendering some sort of service for him and Dumbledore, perhaps Dumbledore had hired Stegert to keep an eye on him. Either way, in Ragnok's eyes, the loss of a hundred and ten thousand galleons was a travesty but for him, who had more money than he would ever need, it was inconsequential.

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he completely missed the local trunk shop, and had to backtrack. After purchasing a simple, sturdy replacement for his old one, which he had no idea the location of, he returned to stash everything in his room in the Leaky Cauldron. With the file that Ragnok had given him stashed safely in a secret portion of the trunk hidden behind a fake backing, he re-entered the Alley. First on his list of priorities was a wand.

To his surprise, and disappointment, Ollivander's wand shop was closed. The windows had been boarded up and the outside of the store was in a state of sever disrepair. The door had been torn off its hinges and someone had tied tape across the opening to deter visitors. Harry easily pushed his way between the tape and into the shop, and was greeted by a thick layer of dust over the entire shop, the floor so dirty that he left clear footprints as though he was walking in snow. The shelves had been almost completely destroyed – if Harry hadn't known what they used to be, he would have been hard pressed to identify them at all.

What was most conspicuous about the whole picture, however, was the clear absence of any wands. The back wall, once filled from floor to ceiling with plain black boxes each containing some of the finest wands in existence, was completely bare apart from the broken shelves. There was not a single wand, or anything else, in fact, to be found in the abandoned store. Harry wondered what had happened to the old wandmaker. Unfortunately, the only two possibilities that seemed remotely likely to him didn't bode well for Ollivander, who was probably dead or been captured by Voldemort. Although Ollivander had been slightly creepy when Harry had first met him, he found it difficult to imagine the wandmaker in a duel, if he had a wand for himself at all.

Harry sighed as he exited the shop. There was only one other place he could think of that sold wands, and it was a place he was in no hurry to enter: Knockturn Alley. Still, he was many years older than he was when he had first entered the street for questionable Witches and Wizards, and he looked nothing like himself. Perhaps, with a bit of luck, he would be able to get in, get what he wanted, and get out quickly without attracting anyone's attention. He didn't really have much of a choice, anyway.

As it turned out, he didn't enter the questionable part of Diagon Alley straight away. Before he could, a shop nearby caught his eye. Unlike the other stores, which had, without exception, gave way to the dreariness and dullness that had, it seemed, pervade everything else, that one particular shop remained defiant. Its windowed were a myriad of rainbow colours, its displays stocked to the ceiling with all manner of objects, shrieking, spinning, flashing or simply sitting there, curious simply due to the fact that it wasn't curious at all. As a matter of fact, there wasn't a single ministry wanted poster in sight.

Harry wasn't the only one to stop and stare. Up and down the street, Witches and Wizards who had been trying to finish their shopping as soon as possible were dragged to a halt, their eyes fixed on the explosion of colour, mouths open in bewilderment that such a thing could possibly still exist. Harry could scarcely believe it himself. Who could possibly so foolish as to open a shop so carelessly flamboyant? It was such an obvious rejection of the fear that surrounded everything else that he was surprised the Death Eaters hadn't tried to do something about it already. It was almost screaming to be attacked, and he wasn't entire certain whether he wanted to shake the owner's hand for their courage, or roll his eyes at their ignorance.

It was at that moment that a red haired wizard emerged from behind one of the displays, a wide grin on his face. From the other side emerged another, completely identical to the first. Harry raised his eyes to the sign above, and wondered why he hadn't thought of them sooner. Out of every one he knew, they were the probably the only ones who would go as far as this to distinguish themselves from the crowd.

He watched from across the street as the Weasley Twins cried out to the watchers "Welcome to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes! Feel free to come in and browse!"

**A/N: Okay, so here's another chapter, _unbelievably _late... I had so many problems with this one I don't even know where to begin! Firstly, I had another version of this chapter which began at the Leaky Cauldron, but I wasn't happy with it (the Leaky Cauldron isn't big in this chapter). Afterwards, well, the Gringotts part was quite difficult for me to write, as I had seen several stories already where the Goblins are highly supportive, courteous etcetera and, while there are some which are quite good, that wasn't wanted for this story. I had to keep rewriting it until I was satisfied, because I didn't want to write another overpowered Harry gets everything story.**

**This chapter is in fact 4.5 k words, which is almost 1.5 times as long as the second longest chapter I've written! I'm actually still not too happy with this chapter - anyone else feel the Gringotts scene needs more? I wasn't sure I expanded on Harry's reactions enough, and I probably droned on too long with Ragnok's explanations, lol. If the ending is a bit sudden, it's because I wasn't really able to find a good place to end it, but I couldn't let the chapter move on to 5k+ words D:**

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the Chapter! If you didn't, review and tell me why :P. I'm not a big fan of this chapter, or the next, but it will get MUCH better soon...**

**For Tron and mdauben, who loved the broom chase, thanks! I liked it too, it was one of my better scenes, if I do say so myself haha. Strangely enough that part was easy for me to write...**

**For everyone who is waiting for the Chamber of Secrets, it's going to come up VERY soon. However, Harry and I agree that he should get kitted up before he walks into anything that may be too dangerous...**

**Thanks for reading! **

**PowerOfOne **


	6. Chapter 5 - Order, or Lackthereof

**Order, or Lackthereof**

It was a voice that hovered on the edges of his dreams, and danced through his nightmares.

It was one of the few voices that he could pick out anywhere, one that miraculously had not significantly changed with time.

It was a voice that belonged to one of the last people he had expected to turn on him.

It was the voice of boy, man now, who had led the public astray.

"Pretty awesome, isn't it?"

The familiarity of the voice locked up his muscles more effectively than the strongest full body bind. For a moment, he debated simply saying nothing and walking away – surely such an action, a clear display of distrust, would not be frowned upon in the current climate? But, already, too long had passed for him to respond in such a manner without looking decidedly odd, which was contrary to his primary goal of remaining unnoticed and not drawing attention to himself. That was why Harry James Potter did the only thing he could and turned to face Ronald Bilius Weasley.

If time had not altered Ron's voice, then it was because it was busy changing his face. An ugly scar now ran down the left side of his face, which had developed a hard, weary, haggard look. He must have made the decision to cut his hair short sometime in the last six years, for it was now less than half the length that it used to be. What really made the difference, however, was not something that was visible to the naked eye.

Maybe it was the wand that was gripped in one hand, ready for action despite being in the middle of what used to be a busy shopping street.

It could have been the way that his eyes flicked back and forth over the crowd, scanning for trouble, despite the fact that he was talking to someone standing right beside him.

Or perhaps it was the way he carried himself – surefooted and certain, confident in his own abilities, which might have been seen as arrogant in another, but in Ron seemed to be backed up by skill, despite the fact that he was doing nothing but standing in a street waiting for a response, which Harry finally gave.

"Yeah, it's pretty amazing. They dare do this even in the current . . . well today?"

"I know what you mean. Our mum tried to convince them to put it on hold, indefinitely, but they refused point blank. Said they didn't want You-Know-Who to win by scaring them into postponing their plans . . . or something along those lines. They're twins, in case you didn't notice by the way. And I'm Ron, Ron Weasley. I'm their brother." Ron said, transferring his wand to his left hand and holding out his right for Harry to shake.

Harry thought that Azkaban had sapped him of all the anger that had come with his imprisonment. He had never been the type of person who craved revenge. He had a temper, but his anger was usually short lived, and he had thought that the years had taken away even that until all that had been left was a deep rooted bitterness.

He had realised that he hadn't really left the past behind as he thought in Gringotts. That response had been provoked by a simple question. Now, with Ronald Weasley standing before him, he felt all of the rage return in full force. It rose like a deadly tsunami, towering over and obliterating any and all logical decision making.

His hand twitched towards the wand in his back pocket. _Only a single second, _he told himself._ It will only take me one second, a good curse, and Ronald Weasley will get what's coming to him. _But before he could do anything of the sort, he was interrupted.

"Sorry," Ron said in a mildly apologetic tone, gesturing towards Harry's right hand. "I didn't mean to startle you, or make you feel uncomfortable. It's just that I noticed you were in muggle clothes as I was walking past and I assumed you were muggleborn. You're pretty brave to be wearing those here, it's like painting a giant target on your back now."

It was the statement about being mubbleborn, coupled with the fact that Ron had obviously seen him reaching for his wand, that brought Harry abruptly back to his senses. He was, after all, pretending to be someone else, and getting into a fight would not be very inconspicuous. Nevertheless, he pointedly ignored the offered hand.

"James Evans."

"Um, right." Ron said awkwardly, "So how come you're dressed like that then, James?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I dress like this? It's comfortable and practical."

"You're not afraid of them, then?" Ron fingered his wand nervously, glancing over the crowd yet again.

"I'm not letting the actions of others dictate any part of my life. Not anymore." Harry told him, letting a tiny part of his simmering anger drip into his voice. Ironically, it seemed to chill his tone. If Ron noticed, he didn't react.

"You sound like my brothers."

"They have the right idea."

"Yeah, I suppose." Ron didn't sound too convinced, but he let the matter drop. "Well then, no point standing out here! Come on, then, let's go and take a look!" Without waiting for a response, he headed for the joke shop.

That was Harry's opportunity to get away. It would have been a relatively simple matter to turn and walk away – chances are that Ron wouldn't have found him, even if he came looking, which was unlikely given the state of the Wizarding World. The wise decision would have been to walk away. Before he even fully realised what he was doing, however, he found himself entering the brightly lit store.

The atmosphere inside the shop was as different as it could ever get from the rest of Diagon Alley. The bright and flashy nature of the colours didn't just reflect character – it also reflected the temperament of their customers as well. The effect Fred and George had on those around them were astounding. Those inside the shop browsed the stacked aisles enthusiastically, their faces curious, their money pouches loose. They showed none of the fear they had exhibited outside – indeed, most of them seemed to forget what was happening outside those walls completely.

Fred and George themselves were in their element. They weaved efficiently through the crowds, popping up as suddenly as apparition whenever they identified a situation which needed their presence, be it a small, chubby looking kid with a greedy hand stuck deep inside a jar labelled _Cockroach Charms_ or a group of friends looking over an entire shelf marked 'Patented Daydreams'. They not only looked as experienced as any shopkeeper, they also, in Harry's opinion, seemed much more efficient than any other shopkeeper he had seen.

"OI FRED!" bellowed Ron Weasley from somewhere in the shop. Pivoting, Harry finally located him standing in the corner which contained several signs proclaiming "PIGMY PUFFS". A gaggle of giggling girls chose at that moment to rush past, pointing at the opposite wall which was stacked with love potions. By the time Harry rejoined Ron, both Fred and George had joined their brother.

". . . zing, but mum is still worried about your safety," Ron was saying.

"We can't spend our entire lives living under a rock," one of the twins replied, shrugging, "People need to be cautious and wary, but they need to show You-Know-Who that they aren't afraid."

"Can I help you?" interrupted the other twin, looking over at Harry standing off to one side. Before he could answer, a terrific crash signified the collapse of an entire pyramid of multicoloured jars. Cursing, the first twin hurried over to restore order.

"I'm James Evans," Harry said over the din, "I met your brother outside the shop."

"Fred Weasley," Fred introduced, before gesturing over at George who now over at the Patented Day Dreams display helping a group of young wizards. "That over there is George, and you've met Ron of course. You're a muggleborn, right? Yet you still risk coming to Diagon Alley?

"Wasn't your brother just saying that people need to stop being afraid?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

Fred chuckled, and clapped Harry on his shoulder. "Finally, someone with guts! But seriously," and indeed, Fred looked more solemn than Harry had ever seen him before, "these aren't the safest times, as you are no doubt aware. My advice is to get your shopping done, including buying as much stuff from our shop as possible, of course, as quickly as possible, and then get the hell out of here. They could come at any time." There was no need to ask who 'they' was.

Ron spoke up. "Yeah, he's right you know. The ministry cracks down really hard on those breaking their new laws."

"The _ministry?_ What laws?" Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Harry knew he had said the wrong thing. Both Ron and Fred looked at him oddly.

Fred opened his mouth to reply, but George shouted from across the shop, "OI FRED, YOU GONNA HELP OR DO I TAKE ALL OUR EARNINGS FOR MYSELF TODAY?" and with a hurried apology, Fred dove into the crowd.

"James," Ron said, tapping Harry on the shoulder and drawing his attention, before indicating that they should exit the shop. Harry acquiesced and he followed Ron out. It was a great deal more comfortable and easier to hold a conversation away from the chaos.

"How come you don't know about the laws, James? Where've you been, everyone knows about them!" Ron asked, eying Harry as though seeing him for the first time.

Not having expected to meet with Rom Weasley ad also meant that Harry had yet to come up with a proper covers story. Unfortunately, judging by the number of things that he had obviously missed while he had been in Azkaban, it was quite clear that he would need one. For the moment, however, he said the first thing that came to mind.

"I've been away," Harry answered, looking challengingly into Ron's eyes. "in America, with family. I know about Vo- I mean, You-Know-Who, but we didn't really get much news about English laws.

"Oh, I see. Okay then, well I guess I'll tell you about them, then, 'cos you need to know. Strange that you don't have an American accent though, considering that you must have been in America for more than two years." Ron told him, scratching his head. "The ministry has come up with this set of laws, supposedly to protect us. They've been in place for almost two years now. Basically, they argue that since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has a problem with muggleborns and half-bloods, the absence of muggleborns from our society should mean that there is less chance of an attack."

"It's utter rubbish, of course. We- I mean, people I know, suspect that You-Know-Who has people in high places now in the ministry, helping him pass these laws, but we have no proof. Anyway, your presence here in a Wizarding community could get you arrested on the charge of endangering others through reckless behaviour or something."

"_What_?" Harry said, disbelievingly. "That's. . ."

"Insane, I know," Ron interrupted, looking apologetic, "I have a best friend who's muggleborn, she has to stay at home or in the muggle world now, but she's easily the smartest Witch of our age."

_Hermione,_ Harry thought to himself. _She must be hiding at the Headquarters of the Order of the Pheonix. _He wasn't surprised, having gathered from Ron's slip of the tone when he said 'we' that the Order was clearly still operational. He opened his mouth to make a comment, but he never got the chance.

"Oi, you!" someone shouted from across the street. Both he and Ron turned at the same time, and Harry saw two Wizards clad in crimson robes walking towards them. "Yes, you in the muggle clothing! Are you a muggleborn?"

"No, sir, he's just been out in the muggle world, that's all," Ron answered before Harry could speak, "He's a half-blood."

"Well, then, why is he still in muggle clothing? You trying to provoke an attack or something?"

"No, it just he hasn't had time to change and-"

"Well, he should have _made _time then! Muggleborns and those have no place in today's society, they are a danger to _everyone _around them, not to mention themselves!"

Harry had had enough. He opened his mouth angrily, ready to give the two Aurors a piece of his mind about just what he thought about the new laws, but he caught a flash of green spellfire out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he flattened himself to the floor. There was a shout, followed by an explosion of screams and confusion as he straightened just in time to see the lead Auror fall away from the wall he had been blasted into onto the pavement.

The crowd inside Fred and George's shop acted as one, surging towards the entrance, causing a massive jam. Whirling, Harry saw a line of men in black cloaks and hoods, their faces covered by a gleaming silver mask.

"Even now, you dare grief us with your presence, scum?" questioned a silky smooth voice. It was impossible for Harry to mistake Lucius Malfoy when he spoke.

While the Death Eaters preferred to taunt and belittle their opponents before the attack began, Harry wasted no such time. A quick count gave him fifteen opponents and, with that in mind, he acted straight away.

"_Reducto!_ _Bombarda! Stupefy!" _he cried, his wand a blur of motion. The two blasting curses were deflected and smashed into two empty shop fronts, obliterating their display of wanted posters and most of the shop. The stunning spell, however, found its target and sent one of the hooded men flying backwards, even as his comrades began to respond.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_ They shouted as one, illuminating the entire street a sickly green. Harry ducked out of the way into a small niche between two stores as the spells whistled through the air where he had just been. The second Auror, who had just drawn his wand, had no time to react and was hit by several Killing Curses at once. His entire body glowed the same shade of sickly green as he was launched into the air, flying almost ten metres before landing with a painful crunch that his dead body could not feel.

Knowing that his reprieve was only temporary, Harry decided to take the initiative and burst back into the street.

"_REDUCTO! REDUCTO! EXPLIARMUS! RE-_" This time, all his spells hit home as they took the Death Eaters by surprise. One of them simply ceased to exist as he took a Reducto straight to the chest. The other at whom a blasting curse was aimed at managed to dance awkwardly away from the spell, causing it blow the wall behind him and sending him tumbling forwards, only to be disarmed and sent smashing into the new hole. The other Dark Wizards had not been idle, however, and one of their curses interrupted his next spell as it opened a gash in his chest and sent him falling to the ground. Blood soaked his shirt, but fortunately it didn't seem too deep.

"_CRUCIO!_" Lucius Malfoy's mask slipped off his face as he cast, but the blond haired man seemed not to care. Harry managed to roll out of the Unforgivable, only to be hit by a blood red curse. The snapping sounds of the bones in his left arm shattering were masked by his involuntary roar of pain.

"JAMES!" Ron called in alarm as he rounded a corner.

If Harry had had the energy, he would have let out the world's longest string of expletives at the red haired man. Instead, he settled for "_Where the HELL have you been?_"

"I sent for help!" Ron shouted as he parried a yellow spell back at his attacker. It drilled a hole abdomen of the wizard, who screamed and collapsed.

"_STUPEFY! _That's really great, Weasley, but where's this help? _REDUCTO! BOMBARDA!"_

Harry and another Death Eater both launched a series of three spells at each other. The Death Eater missed, Harry didn't, and the other man disappeared in an explosion of cobblestone. Ron never had to answer his question because at that moment, a wave of pops resounded all over Diagon Alley as what looked like thirty or more Wizards apparated into the alley. Each wore a brooch emblazoned with a crimson phoenix.

The remaining Death Eaters that could walk disappeared with loud cracks, leaving their disabled comrades where they had fallen. The phoenix brooched Wizards attempted to stop them, but though the majority of their spells were on target, they were too slow and did nothing other than cause more destruction to the Alley.

As the adrenaline left his system, the agony in his left arm returned equally as gradually. At first, it twinged in discomfort, but all to soon it felt as though his arm was stuck in a raging inferno. Growling in pain, Harry managed to stumble over to a relatively intact wall and slid down to sit wearily against its cool surface.

He observed silently as the Order of the Phoenix, for surely that's who the new arrivals were, began tending to the wounded. Unnoticed in the fight, those civilians who had been in the street at the time had been rapidly caught in the ensuing crossfire. Ironically, those who had been unable to leave Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, or had the good sense to not leave, had emerged relatively unscathed. In the sudden outbreak of activity, no one noticed the lone wizard with the shattered arm leaning listlessly against a shop front. Fortunately, Ron had not forgotten him.

"James, you alright? Oi, we need medical attention here!"

The pain had moved beyond the realm of agony now, and was almost unbearable. Gritting his teeth to prevent any involuntary sounds, Harry watched as one of the Order Wizards jogged over and began to cut away his blood drenched shirt. The fight to remain conscious was a losing battle, but one that he was unwilling to give any ground in, not when he was surrounded by men who had likely helped put him in prison. However, in the Mediwizard's haste, the man nudged his shattered left arm, sending a devastating jolt coursing through his prone form. He wanted to scream, to express the pain that he felt, but even as he finally convinced his jaws to open, the ability to control his vocals left him. The darkness that had clouded the edges of his vision, threatening to move in, finally overcame his defences and he felt himself falling

down. . .

down. . .

down. . .

down.

**A/N: Well. Not sure what to say first here lol. I am overjoyed to see that the last chapter wasn't as badly received as badly as I thought it would be! I guess it's true that you are your own worst critic...**

**I would like to apologise for this chapter. Firstly because of its lateness, which I have an excuse for - school just started! It's been hectic here, and I just haven't had time for writing, as I've only had small periods of 5-10 minutes. I prefer to get my writing done in blocks, soo... is there a quality drop in this chapter? **

**A lot of you love the Weasley twins, and so do I. This chapter is actually unplanned, I never intended for the fight to take so much of this chapter. I promise that you WILL see more of them, and actually what they are like, _next_ chapter, as well as some our other well known names! As you can see, this chapter will open up an interaction between the Order and Harry - finally you'll be able to see more of what's going on. Apart from that, well, I just don't feel like this chapter _did_ anything. . . anyone else feel the same?**

**I wonder if anyone has picked up the oddity about Stegert yet? Everyone wonders if the twins support or abandon Harry - you WILL have that question answered next chapter. I won't take as long to put it up, because although I didn't write, I DID plan out the next few chapters. It will be ~4 days between updates probably...**

**Hope you enjoyed reading :D**

**PowerOfOne**


	7. Chapter 6 - Weasleys and Ex-Weasleys

**Chapter 6 - Weasleys and Ex-Weasleys**

Pain(n): a somatic sensation of acute discomfort.

He was no stranger to the sensation of pain. He had become as accustomed to it as he had to magic. It was just another part of his life.

Perhaps it was because it had been so long since he had come into contact with any great physical pain. Perhaps his injuries were worse than he thought. Whatever the reason, the agony that coursed through his veins as he regained consciousness felt more excruciating than he had ever experienced before. It slid like liquid fire along his bloodstream, igniting every single nerve in his body with a raging inferno more incapacitating than the strongest Cruciatus Curse he had ever received from Voldemort.

In fact, only one event had ever brought him as much pain as he was feeling now. It had been six years ago, almost, in the Ministry of Magic Atrium, which had been empty save for four: Albus Dumbledore, Bellatrix Lestrange, Voldemort and him. He had cursed Bellatrix, Dumbledore had caused the golden statues to restrain and protect him, Voldemort had just been nearly defeated in a duel against the venerable Headmaster of Hogwarts. And then Voldemort had possessed him. It had felt . . . in fact it had felt much like he felt now.

_Voldemort is trying to possess me._ Almost as soon as Harry came to that conclusion, he felt a searing pain in his head, as though someone had just driven a red hot poker through his scar. At any other time, it would have hurt a lot, but it was barely noticeable over the sensations with which he was already afflicted.

The last time Voldemort had taken over his body, Harry had been forced to ask Dumbledore to kill him. Apart from the agony of that experience, he remembered little else. Fortunately, Dumbledore had not killed him, and Voldemort had not been able to stay in his mind for long. This time, however, it was not his mouth that was open, but his eyes.

Almost as though they were being acted upon by an external force, Harry felt his eyelids being forced gradually apart. At first, the brightness of the room blinded him, but all too soon, his eyes adjusted, not that it really did him much good. Having taken off his glasses before he had ridden on the Knight Bus, to him, his surroundings were still largely but a blur.

It was as though he was a marionette. He was unable to cry out, not even to relieve his pain, as he was made to sit up. He registered the cold air meeting his naked torso as he did so, but felt nothing as the blankets fell off. His neck creaked as it turned, first one way, then the other, but he could make out nothing. Then, an old man, he gradually swung his legs out of the bed and placed his feet, none too gently, on the cold floor. That was as far as he got.

"Hey, you! Get back into bed, you're not fit enough to walk around yet!" The unexpected voice sounded caught him, and Voldemort, completely by surprise. He felt Voldemort flinch through their link and, like water draining out of a sink, the Dark Wizard's presence faded, slipping away like a memory. He himself probably would have flinched too, had he any energy to do so. The loss of the unyielding, excruciating, controlling pressure stole the energy from his limbs. Gasping for breaths that didn't seem to want to enter his lungs, shocked with the instantaneity of it all, Harry collapsed onto the floor in a boneless heap.

The newcomer cast a spell and lifted Harry gently into the air. He made no move to protest as he was floated back onto the bed. He lay there, motionless with exhaustion, as the person drew the covers he had pushed away back over his prone form. Just for a second, he thought he caught a familiar face amongst the flash of red hair, but then weariness took him and he thought no more.

* * *

Harry felt much more rested the next time he woke. His injuries from Diagon Alley no longer pained him, and his scar was so passive, for the first time in so long, giving not even a twinge, that he had to touch it to assure himself it was still there. It was, and that brought with it a whole new host of problems.

First on his list of priorities was to check if his charmed appearance had worn off. If he had been brought to where he thought he was, then by no means could he allow someone to identify him. Such an objective, like many others that he had, was easier said than done. For one, someone had changed his clothes into a loose pair of pajamas, a fact that made him distinctly uncomfortable. It also meant that he had been deprived of 'his' wand – and he hadn't the slightest clue where it was.

Secondly, he had to escape and somehow make his way into Hogwarts to enter the Chamber of Secrets. This objective was one that almost made him wish he had a table that he could bang his head on. How the hell was he supposed to break into one of the most secure buildings in Wizarding Britain whilst remaining undetected with only five years' worth of magical education?

_One thing at a time, Potter, _Harry told himself sternly, sliding the covers back in a disturbingly familiar action and swinging his legs yet again out of bed. This time, he was able to stand and walk towards the only door with no problems whatsoever, more thankful evidence of his almost complete recovery.

The doors in Grimmauld Place had always given quite an audible _click_ as they opened or closed. While he had been just a student, and a guest, the noise had never bothered him. Naturally, in fact, he had never even noticed it. Faced with the ancient brass handles, however, it all came rushing back, and he became instantly wary. Who was waiting on the other side? Would they attack him when he tried to exit the room? Perhaps they already knew who he was, and were only waiting for the Ministry to arrive to take him back into custody?

It was this last thought more than any other that propelled him into action. If he _was_ a prisoner, and if the Order _was _waiting for the Ministry to take him into custody, then simply standing alone in his room wouldn't change the situation. Taking a breath, he turned the handle and winced at the sound the door made, which seemed inordinately loud in the stillness, as he pushed it open.

As it turned out, there was no one guarding the ominous hallways outside his room. In fact, as Harry worked up the nerve to tiptoe around the floor, gently pressing one ear to the doors that he passed, he was pretty sure that there was no one on the entire floor. It did nothing to calm his rapid heartrate – if anything, the silence increased it, drawing the walls, their surfaces showing patches of uneven colour where paintings had used to bean, forever closer, as though hoping to crush him between them. He felt a pang of sympathy for Sirius, who had spent last remaining year patrolling those long, cold corridors with nothing but the dust lingering on the air to keep him company.

_The Order must be at a meeting_, Harry realized. _I wonder if Ron and Hermione have been allowed to join the Order yet_. It was mere curiosity, nothing more. He didn't really intend to stick around and find out. Nonetheless, the only way out of Grimmauld Place was through the door on the ground floor and so, with soft, careful steps, made a little easier by the fact that his feet were bare, Harry began descending the stairs.

He had actually managed to get as far as within arms reach of the front door when he was interrupted by the abrupt opening of the kitchen door. All manner of people exited – some of them, Harry recognized but a greater majority that he didn't. It looked like the Order had been expanding.

Mad-Eye Moody wasn't the first to exit the room, but he was the first to react. While many others were still chatting amiably to each other about less grave, everyday events, the disfigured Auror raised his wand and shoved those around him aside so he could get a clear shot at Harry, who instinctively held up his hands to show his lack of a weapon. Those Moody had shoved began to protest, but fell silent with the rest of the room as they all noticed the target of the Auror's undivided attention.

"You're awake, then" Moody growled, his real eye fixed on Harry's face while his electric blue one whirled at dizzying speed all over Harry's body, no doubt looking for hidden weapons. Harry personally thought that the action was perhaps a bit _too_ paranoid – hadn't he been stripped and changed by them already?

"We have a few questions for you, if you would kindly like to step into the kitchen." Moody continued, his stance making it obvious that his words weren't a request. "Everyone else, please retake your seats."

In the perceived seriousness of the situation, no one argued. Like troops, they all filed silently back into the kitchen. With the smallest flick of his head, Moody indicated that Harry should do the same, and Harry had no choice but to comply.

Having been famous since he turned one and his parents were killed, Harry was quite experienced in having the eyes of an entire room, filled mostly with people he didn't know, fixed unblinkingly on him. That didn't mean he ever got used to it however, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he was made to stand at the front of the room. Moody placed himself behind Harry, wand still out and at the ready, as Dumbledore, who had never left the kitchen, quickly looked up and took stock of the situation.

With a jolt, his roaming eyes fell upon a familiar group of red heads. Mr. Weasley sat next to his wife at the far end of the table. Beside them were the oldest of the Weasley brothers Bill and Charlie. Fred and George sat together on the other side of their parents. Ron, too was there, right next to George and beside him, her hands firmly in his, was Hermione Granger. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stared at him with the same open distrust and curiosity as everyone else in the room. Bill and Charlie eyed him with calculating expressions, while Fred and George seemed to be communicating amongst themselves, glancing towards each other every few seconds. Ron gave Harry a small nod when their eyes met, as if trying to reassure him of the Order's good intentions, while beside him, Hermione's gaze made him feel as though she were looking at him through a microscope. Noticeably absent was Percy and Ginny. If the Headmaster was surprised, he gave no indication of it whatsoever, as he let out a pleasant smile.

"Good evening, Mr. Evans. I hope you understand our need for caution in the present climate." The venerable Wizard started, giving a small, apologetic shrug. "I am glad to see you have recovered." Harry wasn't sure how to respond, so he stayed silent. At least it seemed that his charms hadn't worn off yet, for Dumbledore seemed to have no knowledge of his true identity.

"Mr. Evans, everyone gathered in this room is quite. . . concerned at the state in which we found you yesterday. You had just almost outdueled ten Death Eaters, for which, by the way, I commend your skill, and with a wand that wasn't yours, no less."

"The wand belongs to Albert Malone," Moody growled, "who is a known Death Eater."

"Yes," Dumbledore acknowledged, looking over at Harry over the top of his half moon spectacles. "We would like an explanation, please, of how you came by Mr. Malone's wand, and how you were able to hold off so many opponents."

Harry bit back the retort that almost made it out of his mouth. It wouldn't do to annoy the Order when he was still unarmed. "I took it off . . . Malone, was it? He attacked me and I disar-"

"Without a wand?" Moody interrupted.

"We were on brooms. I snatched it off him as I flew past." Harry realized almost immediately on hindsight that saying such a thing probably wasn't the wisest decision that he had made. He doubted many of the Witches and Wizards present had the skill on a broomstick to perform such a feat. Fortunately, Dumbledore seemed to ignore the suspiciousness of his story.

"You must be quite the flyer then, Mr. Evans. Ron, Fred and George Weasley tell me that you were in muggle clothing when they met you in Diagon Alley, and that your lack of knowledge about the recent laws passed by our Ministry was a result of your living in America." Dumbledore said, looking over at the Weasleys for confirmation.

"Yes." Harry replied shortly.

"Care to expand on that?"

"Not really."

"Mr. Evans," called a voice from somewhere amongst the Order Members, "its probably best that you answer _all _our questions to the best of our ability."

"Why would I do that?" Harry snapped, raising an eyebrow. The man who had asked the question looked taken aback, and opened his mouth, but found nothing remotely intelligent to say.

"Now Mr. Evans. I appreciate your disapproval for our probing questions, but we mean you no harm," Dumbledore told him in a placating tone, "We would simply like to establish your origins, as much for our safety as for yours. Now. . ."

And so the questions dragged on. Harry had lost track of how many questions about his supposed life in America he answered. Although he tried to stay away from lying outright, claiming that he had an Aunt, Uncle and Cousin, which was true, and therefore likely to be easier to remember, he was sure that sooner or later he was going to slip up and forget something. He also, as a rule, tried to stay away from real names, and for some reason none of the members of the Order present seemed to pick up on it.

"Mr. Evans, you are an exceptional dueler, as you have proven in Diagon Alley. What you see before you is th-"

"Albus, is it really wise to tell Mr. Evans _everything_ or even _anything_ about us?" Hermione broke in before Dumbledore could finish.

"Miss Granger, I believe Mr. Evans here to be trustworthy. He has satisfactorily answered our questions, and I am confident now that he is no supporter of Lord Voldemort. The Order of the Pheonix, a group that I started to oppose the Death Eaters," Dumbledore explained at Harry's faked questioning look, "could do with a Wizard like you. In these dark times, we all need to choose between what is right and what is easy. Will you join us?"

It was all Harry could do to not roll his eyes. Dumbledore's first and foremost belief – choosing between what is right and what is easy. _He's obviously forgotten the wrong choices that are just plain wrong,_ he thought wryly. Outwardly, however, he gave no indication of his derision as he said "Sorry to disappoint you, but I did not come here to this country to fight a war that is not mine to fight. Thank you for taking care of me when I was injured, but I will be leaving soon. I have absolutely no intention of staying."

Harry watched amused as Ron's mouth dropped open with surprise. Obviously, the redhead had thought he would join, but Harry had no desire to be in close proximity to any of them for an extended period of time. The twins seemed to be less startled by his refusal. The only reaction they had was to look at each other yet again. Every other member of the Order, however, looked at him with open disapproval. Even Dumbledore let a displeased expression cross his face, but it was gone so quickly that if Harry hadn't been eyeing the Headmaster carefully, he would have missed it completely.

". . . I see." Dumbledore said in a voice positively dripping with disappointment. During his school years, Harry probably would have done anything to avoid putting such an emotion into Dumbledore's tone when the Professor addressed him. Now, as an older and wiser man, he really couldn't give a damn what the Professor thought. "I had hoped that you would find courage to aid us in our plight. However, it is your choice to make. We help others in need, that is why we aided you when you were injured. I simply hoped that you would find it in yourself to do the same."

"I, and everyone else in this room, will respect your decision. If it is truly your intention to leave, then by all means do so. I will have one of the house elves put your belongings in a bag for you, and return to you the wand we had taken from you. If you should ever change your mind, however, simply send a message addressed to me to Hogwarts, and it will reach me. Everyone else," the Headmaster said, raising his voice and addressing the rest of the Order, "thank you for staying behind. I trust you all have other business to which you need to be attending so we will bid our farewells here."

There was an outbreak of chair legs scraping on the floor and chatter breaking out amongst the crowd as everyone stood up and in twos and threes left the kitchen. Moody prodded Harry in the back sharply with his wand, as if in warning, before stomping out of the room, leaving him alone with the Headmaster. Dumbledore gave nodded at Harry as he said "I _do_ hope you change your mind. Your things are waiting by the front door." With that, he swept out of the room.

Harry took at seat at the kitchen table, having no desire to run into any Order members as he left. He bit back a groan. Things were moving too fast, in his opinion. He had not planned to run into the Order, or even fight the Death Eaters, but fate had forced his hand. Now that Dumbledore knew about him, he was going to have to be a great deal more careful and it made his original goal of breaking into Hogwarts, an impossible task already, just that little bit harder. As if to prove that both bad and good luck came in threes, Voldemort had apparently also become the first to realize that Harry Potter was not as dead as everyone thought he was, which could only possibly bode ill in the future.

Harry looked up at the click of the door opening to see Ron and the twins reenter to room. Fred, or perhaps George, gave his wand an indistinct wave and the door snapped shut, glowing blue around the edges. "Silencing charm," he explained catching Harry's eye. "We want to talk to you."

There was a pregnant pause as each of the brothers seemed to be weighing up their words. Finally, Ron couldn't hold back any more and asked "_Why _didn't you join when Professor Dumbledore asked you to?"

"Yeah, we thought-"

"-especially after seeing you-"

"-duel those Death Eaters that-"

"-you'd join us for sure!"

_The twins haven't changed a bit_, Harry thought to himself, amused. "Guys, I told you. It's not my fight. I have a reason for being in London. Once I do what I came here to do, I'm leaving."

"How did you know we're in London?" Ron questioned, raising his eyebrows. "This house is under a Fidelius Charm!"

Harry could have kicked himself. "Oh, I meant when I was in Diagon Alley."

"So then, what did-"

"-you come here for then?"

"I can't tell you." Harry replied, raising his eyebrows. "Its my business, anyway."

"Sorry, we don't-"

"-mean to pry. It's just-"

"-that it came as-"

"-a big surprise to us that-"

"-a muggleborn would come to-"

"Um guys, do you mind?" Harry interrupted, bemused. "You're giving me a headache."

Ron snorted, and took over. "What these two idiots want to say is that we were surprised that a muggleborn would come to the most dangerous country for people like you with no idea of what's happening and with no inclination of helping the situation."

"Things here are bad." One of the twins said, grimacing.

"Not just bad, Fred, they're horrible. People are getting attacked in the streets-" George continued, wearing a similar expression.

"-and we suspect," Fred told Harry, looking over at his brothers, "that the ministry can't really do anything about it, and are releasing all this anti-muggleborn propaganda because it has been compromised."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, sighing, "Our dad works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, and really enjoys working with muggles. The new leadership seemed to pick up on that because they sacked him. They cut other positions too, such as almost fifty jobs from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad."

"They argue that protecting muggles isn't as important," put in Fred, "when we can't even protect ourselves."

"It's true, of course," George admitted reluctantly, "but the ministry is twisting it all to make this world even more pureblood oriented than it is already."

"So then you're whole family supports the Order?" Harry asked, feigning interest and reminding himself that he wasn't supposed to know anything about them.

"Not exactly," George replied. "We have a git-"

"He means idiot." Fred supplied.

"He means our brother Percy." Ron explained distastefully, "He is a git and an idiot. He supported the Ministry over the Order, over Dad and over his own common sense. People like him, and people he worked for, made the Ministry even less incompetent and unprepared to deal with the outbreak of a second war than it was already."

"So then he's still staying away from your family even now?"

"What do you mean now?" Ron questioned curiously, "I mean, yes he is, but you couldn't have known when he began distancing himself."

"Oh, um, well I assumed that it had been a while, because you said 'the outbreak of a second war', so I assumed that you meant he had separated himself before the war had even started."

Fred and George didn't appear to be even listening. They looked back and forth between Harry and each other, the only indication they were communicating being the slight twitches of their eyebrows and tilting of their heads.

"Ron," George started.

"We need you to see-" continued Fred.

"-if mum and dad are ready to leave yet." Finished George.

Ron scowled at them. "Why do I have to go? Why don't you guys go, apparate like you are so fond of doing."

"Because," Said George, grinning, "we will-"

"-prank you every day for the next month-" an identical grin spread over Fred's face.

"-if you don't!" Said George, leaning forward to put his face right in front of his younger brother's.

Ron rolled his eyes and gave the twins a one finger salute as he exited the room. Fred and George chuckled and gave each other a high-five.

"Anyway," George said, returning his attention to Harry, who had been watching them with no small amount of amusement, "we have another-"

"-sibling, a sister called-"

"-Ginny, but shes-"

"not here because-"

"Guys!" interrupted Harry, chuckling, "one at a time please."

"Sorry," Fred apologized, not looking the lease bit apologetic, "Ginny is three years younger than us."

"She doesn't support the Order, either," George said, "because of something that happened almost a year ago."

"When Harry Potter died," Fred continued, "she was hit the hardest. All of us felt like he had finally expired and though he did deserve Azkaban, he didn't deserve to die."

"But Dumbledore told us that if Harry Potter was to die, then the prophecy would become void and anyone would be able to kill He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." George told Harry.

"Ginny couldn't believe the plan Dumbledore was suggesting," Fred took up the story, "but for different reasons from us. She felt that Harry didn't even deserve Azkaban. She never believed you were guilty, and she was devastated when you died, so she left the Order. Said Dumbledore wasn't much different from You-Know-Who, she did. Moved out, too."

"She believes that I was innocent?" Harry asked, feeling a rush of appreciating and gratitude for the smallest Weasley, who had abandoned her family because of him. Of course, it was only after the words left his mouth that Harry realized his mistake. The twins whipped out their wands and pointed them at him.

"Yes, Harry," Fred said, narrowing his eyes.

"She does." Finished George.

**A/N: OKAY... another chapter down! This one was quite a bit longer than I had planned, not to mention late, but I have finally realised that I will never be able to keep a deadline lol. Especially with a chapter that includes dialogue, because I keep trying to change it! Apart from that, there's not that much to say, really. I'm glad you guys liked the unexpected action in the last chapter, but really it was completely unplanned, haha. This one contained what I originally intended the last one to - a bit of the Order, a bit of Fred and George, answering the question of Ginny and of course just a bit more on the way the world is screwed up.**

**Tron, I'm pretty sure I mentioned a couple of chapter's earlier that Harry had come to the conclusion that everyone, or at least everyone that matters, believes he is dead. I hope this chapter makes it clear if I didn't mention it before, not to mention Dumbledore's part in it! Now you know why the Aurors were taking Harry out of his cell. . . :P**

**Thara, there's a bit of the twins there for you :D. They probably won't be as interesting as J.K's twins (that's an impossible standard, anyway lol) but I hope they are satisfactory. You won't know there stance until next chapter though, so keep reading! :D.**

**mdauben, good guess about the twins!**

**Until the next chapter, everyone!**

**PowerOfOne**


	8. Chapter 7 - Fred and George

**Chapter 6 - Fred and George**

"Well, well, well. . . ." George said slowly as he stood with his wand still up. "Looks to me as if the Boy-Who-Lived _lives_ up to his name, Fred!"

"It certainly looks that way, brother of mine." Fred agreed as he flicked his wand at the two closed doors of the kitchen, causing them to glow red before turning back to Harry, who felt as though he had been frozen in place. "I must admit myself impressed by your escape. Even Dumbledore thinks you're dead!"

"Clearly, I'm not." Harry retorted, wishing that he still had a wand. Perhaps if the twins walked closer, he could snatch one of theirs?

"Well he would, Fred." George told his brother, ignoring him completely. "You know, since he ordered it and all!"

"Oh yea, I forget sometimes. Seemed real cut up about the decision, I could tell."

"Wasn't smug at all. Totally devastated."

"I for one was completely convinced by his statement saying that he would give anything to have Harry standing with him on side of the light rather than in Azkaban."

There was a pregnant pause as Harry tried to succinctly voice his confusion. Eventually he settled for "_What the bloody hell are you guys talking about? _Are you going to attack me or hand me over to Dumbledore or not?_"_

Fred and George exchanged identical guilty looks. "Sorry, old chap! We really couldn't resist. After all, we thought that you were guilty for a time too, Harry. Ginny is the only one who believed that you were innocent." Fred explained.

"None of you trusted the judgment of your only sister?"

"At the time, we were highly doubtful that her opinion was-"

"-objective, rather than subjective." Both the twins looked so genuinely apologetic that Harry let his curiosity guide his actions and nodded for the twins to keep going.

"So she asked us," continued George, "to do some digging. Which we did. We didn't find anything-"

Fred broke in. "-which was actually what made it even more . . . suspicious. The evidence used against you in court was gone. Not classified, but missing."

"Missing completely, as if it had never been there." George said, shaking his head as if he still couldn't believe it. "All the documentation, all the 'eyewitness' accounts from muggles . . . nowhere to be found. As thought they never existed. It was almost as if you never went to trial!"

"How can it be gone?" Harry interrupted. "I thought the ministry kept strict records of everything they do? Everyone complains about the red tape!"

"Exactly." Agreed George, nodding. "Anyway, to us, the whole thing was starting to stink worse than Severus Snape's socks. . ."

"I suppose," Fred mused, "that they didn't expect anyone to go looking for it. Otherwise the problem would probably have been much better hidden. We probably wouldn't have looked for it either, if Ginny hadn't begged us to."

"After a few years," George added, "the whole matter would probably have been seen as an administrative error. Of course, we went looking for it-"

"-less than a month afterwards, so we expected much greater efforts in helping to rectify the problem." An ugly look crossed Fred's face. "Instead, every enquiry we asked was-"

"-met with dead ends. The ministry's acting was quiet pathetic, actually, and it was obvious that someone higher up was concealing the info-" George said, snorting.

"-but then Dumbledore himself asked us to stop investigating." Fred finished.

"What?" Harry asked, not quite sure he heard correctly. "Dumbledore asked you to stop. As in he asked you personally?" Whatever problems he had with the revered Headmaster, whatever lasting bitterness he still retained for the callous way in which the man had not only abandoned him, but actively sought to fight against him, he still had a hard time accept that Albus Dumbledore was somehow mixed up in everything.

"Yeah, we were as surprised as you when he came up to us," said Fred. "We couldn't believe it either. He wouldn't have come up to us, though, if he didn't have anything to do with what happened to you."

"Well we were stuck." George carried on, sighing. "There was nothing else we could do, as Dumbledore had told us specifically not to keep looking, and even if we ignored him, we had no idea where to look."

"By then we didn't believe you were guilty anymore, of course." Fred grinned at Harry. "And although we did entertain the notion of doing so, we never did get around to implementing that plan to break you out of Azkaban."

"You were going to break me out of Azkaban?" Harry wasn't sure whether to be grateful or amused. His first few days in the infamous prison, he had dreamt of someone rescuing him. He had imagined new evidence of his innocence coming to light and being set free, or perhaps someone from the Order who knew him. Of all the possible saviors and scenarios, the twins, who ran a joke shop, deliberately flunked their OWLs and had never broken any serious laws in their lives (although they did break the school rules, not to mention ridden in an illegal flying car) had never even crossed his mind.

"I find the fact that you think our declaration of support funny highly insulting!" George said, pretending to scowl in anger. "We actually had a plan half made!"

"Really." Harry said, snorting.

"We did." Fred told him, trying to look solemn. "In fact, we were all set to break into Azkaban."

"You were?" Harry asked, startled. Was the security in Azkaban really nowhere near as good as its reputation made it seem?

"Yeah," George replied with a straight face. There was a really easy way to get into Azkaban. All we had to do was get ourselvers arrested and given a guilty sentence."

"The only problem was," Fred said, continuing where his brother had left off, "we were a bit unsure about the second half of the plan. You know, the whole escaping thing."

Harry couldn't help himself and began to chuckle. "Nice plan guys." He complimented sarcastically. "At least I would have had some company in there. . ."

Before he could say another word, however, there was a bang from somewhere outside the kitchen door, followed by a string of curse words. With a stab of his wand, George caused the door to fly open to reveal Ron, sitting against a table outside and rubbing the back of head, wincing painfully.

"Why the hell did you two idiots put an Imperturbable Charm on the door?" He said, scrambling up when the door burst open. The twins snickered openly while Harry tried to control the smile that threatened to break out on his face.

"I thought you would have learnt by now, Ickle Ronniekins," teased Fred, "to throw dungbombs or something similar at the doors of this house before knocking?"

"Oh dear," George tutted loudly to Harry and his twin as Ron gave them all a one finger salute. "You better not let Mum see you doing that!"

"So were Mum and Dad ready to leave yet?" Fred asked before Ron could retort.

Ron glared at them. "Yeah, you twits. Everyone is waiting for you two now. How come you guys are still here?"

"We had some stuff to discuss with James," George told him dismissively. "You guys can leave first you want."

Ron gave the three of them a shrewd glance. "You guys aren't trying to recruit James into your business, are you? He shouldn't even be anywhere near Diagon Alley! Not only will the ministry have another reason to arrest him, it would be putting him and everyone around him in danger!"

George waved away his concerns with a impatient air. "Of course not Ronniekins, but what we discuss is our _business_, not yours. Unless you want to find spiders in your bed again, I suggest you leave us be." Ron blanched, before hastily wiping the expression from his face, but not before they all saw it. Muttering a barely audible excuse about telling his Mum and Dad that the twins would still be a while, he slammed the door shut behind him.

"Anyway," Fred said after Ron had left, turning back to Harry, "If I was you, James, I would run. Far, far away. England is probably not the safest place for you to be right now."

"I can't. Harry said shortly. "There's somewhere I have to be."

"What?" asked George. It was the twin's turn to be confused as Harry told them all about how he escaped, Anna, the attack and the two men who called themselves Padfoot and Prongs.

"So you see, I have to get into Hogwarts somehow." He explained, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know how I was going to get into the school itself, but I can get onto the grounds easily enough." He didn't mention the fact that he had only come up with the idea literally a few minutes ago.

"So let me get this straight." Fred muttered slowly. "You put yourself in danger, purposely travelling to one of the busiest shopping districts in Great Britain, all on the advice of two people you actually don't know?"

"They did save my life," Harry reminded him, "and besides, how many people would know Padfoot and Prongs?"

"I still can't believe that Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are your dad and his friends. . ." said George, chuckling, before a solemn expression settled over his face. "Did they seriously ask you to try and get into the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Yeah," replied Harry. "They said that I should go where the Sword first appeared to me. Where else would that be?"

"Right." Fred's voice took on a strictly business tone. Harry imagined it was the same tone he used when buying and selling questionable products from people like Mundungus Fletcher. "You need to join the Order. . ."

"What?" questioned Harry, startled. "I thought I made it clear that I want nothing to do with the Order, Dumbledore or, no offense, most of your family?"

"It's just for appearances, Harry," George informed him, seeming to catch on to his brother's ideas as easily as ever. "If you join the Order, there will be an excuse for you to visit Professor Dumbledore."

"In fact, we can take you to Hogwarts tomorrow to 'vouch' for you," continued Fred, "and perhaps you'll be able to slip away to the Chamber when you have the chance."

"You could always say you need to visit the loo." George suggested.

"Of course, you don't know what you'll find in the Chamber-" began Fred.

"-but for the time being, it doesn't matter. Whatever you decide to do, visiting the Chamber is clearly your first goal. We'll help you." Finished his brother.

For the briefest of moments Harry was almost tempted to refuse the twin's offer of aid. Despite their cordiality now, he couldn't help but remember that they were to people who had already wronged him in the past. Before he could stop himself, he heard himself asking, "So that's it is it? You guys just suddenly switch sides?"

Fred and George looked at each other uncertainly.

"Harry, we really are, you know. . ." George started, trailing off awkwardly.

"What he means is," said Fred, turning to glare at his brother, "we're sorry. We really are sorry about not believing you, about abandoning you. We knew you, we should have known you couldn't have done it."

"Yeah mate," George told him apologetically. "It's no excuse, you have to see it from our perspective as well. Everyone trusts Dumbledore and everyone saw the hard evidence they brought up before the court."

"If it means anything," Fred interrupted, "We were ready to believe in your innocence. Had we known what we know now, we would have believed you straight away."

It wasn't good enough. Nothing would truly be good enough for Harry, because he had wasted five years of his life. Five years not just gone, but spent in torture. Had he been a different person, he would have instantly declined to accept the apology. But he wasn't. He was Harry Potter, the godson of Sirius Black. Sirius Black, the man who had spent twelve years in Azkaban, which was more than twice as long as him. If Sirius Black could find it in himself to reconcile with all those that betrayed him, then he Harry certainly should be able to.

Perhaps he had been silent a moment too long, because both twins opened their mouths, as if to apologize yet again. Before either of them could speak, however, Harry waved them off.

"It's okay guys. Well, it's not, but I'm not one to hold a grudge." He told them, holding up a hand. "It's in the past, and there's nothing you can do to change it now, anyway. Just help me now."

Both the Weasley's looked immesnsely relieved and nodded.

"But actually," Harry added as an afterthought, "going to the Chamber isn't my first priority."

"Really?" Fred asked, confused. "What else do you have to do?"

"Finish my shopping!"

* * *

Because it was so close to dinner time, Harry didn't actually go shopping that day. Instead, he reclaimed his possessions (which there hadn't been a lot of) from where it had been left for him at the entrance to Number 12, and returned to his room in the Leaky Cauldron. To his relief, he found that nothing had been touched in his absence, not even by the cleaner.

Nice and early the following morning, he returned to Diagon Alley. If the first time he had visited the shopping district had been noticeably quiet, then it was even more so now. In fact, he saw no one at all on his short walk from the brick walk to the entrance to Knockturn Alley, although he wasn't exactly certain how much of that was to do with the time of the day, rather than the events that happened the day before.

Knockturn Alley had always been a highly dangerous place, filled with Witches and Wizards of questionable intent. Because of this, it often gave of an ominous aura, and one never felt at ease in the narrow, darkened street. However, there was not a single soul in sight when Harry entered, and if it hadn't been for the 'open' signs in the store windows, murky with dust and grime, he would have thought that the entire area was closed. That, if it were even possible, made Knockturn Alley even spookier, and the hairs on the back of his neck didn't relax the entire time he was there.

Finding the wand shop wasn't difficult. With a giant wooden wand above the doorway, it was pretty hard to miss. The small bell fixed next to the door gave a tinkling sound as he entered the small shop, but no one came, giving him an opportunity to look around.

Unlike Ollivander's wand shop, which had once possessed a back wall filled to the ceiling with shelves containing wands of all sorts of compositions, the store that he was in now (he hadn't yet seen any mention of a name) was noticeably bare. With the exception of a small counter in the middle of the front room, there was no other furniture in the store at all, not even a light source. In a storm, he imagined the store would have been pitch black.

There was a small doorway at the back, covered with two parting curtains. Unsure of what was expected of him, Harry stood awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot, but no one came. After almost ten minutes of waiting, he decided that he'd had enough and made to enter the back room. Perhaps the shop was closed after all, and the owner had simply forgot to switch the sign around?

As he made his way around the counter, a poppy sound made him turn and stare. There, lying inconspicuously on the polished wooden surface, was a long, thin box, easily recognizable for containing a wand. Beside it was a single white piece of paper which read

_Harry James Potter_

_Elder Wood_

_Pheonix Feather_

_8 Galleons_

Harry was highly skeptical that the wand would work for him. When Hagrid had taken him to Diagon Alley to get his first wand, he remembered that he had tried almost the entire contents of Ollivander's shop before he had found the right wand. Hesitantly, he pried the lid off the box.

Although about the same length and thickness as his old wand, the wand that lay before him was much plainer, stiff and ramrod straight. There was only one exception, the handle, which had been ridged with what looked like some second type of black wood, wound around the base of the wand in an ornate and intricate pattern. With no other choice, he reached for it and raised it above his head, hoping that whatever reaction he would get wouldn't be as severe as those that had occurred while he had been shopping for his first wand. Then he brought it smoothly swishing down.

At first, he thought that he was getting no reaction at all, but mid swing, he felt a surge of heat travel up his arm. There was a crackle of energy that felt almost felt like static as the wand released a steady stream of sparks that remained in the air long after he had lowered it, throwing colourful, dancing patterns on all four walls. If he had any doubts that the wand would work for him, he was cured of it now, and satisfied, he extracted 8 galleons from his pocket and deposited them on the counter.

He tucked the box into his pocket as was about to do the same to the piece of white paper, when he reconsidered. After all, it had his real name on it. Tossing it into the air, he flicked his new wand and watched as the paper was incinerated, before nodding in the general direction of the back room and hurrying from the shop. He still had a lot to buy.

Fortunately, his shopping trip was completely uneventful this time round and, by the time he returned to his room at the inn that afternoon, he was exhausted for the completely ordinary reason of having walked around all day. He was sixty galleons poorer, but now had three sets of high quality robes from Madame Malkins as well as ordinary clothes to go underneath them, fixed his eyesight at a magical optometrist (feeling a indescribable sense of relief as everything finally became clear again), gloves, scarfs and essentially replaced everything he had lost due to his imprisonment. The only two things he could not bring himself to even consider finding a replacement for was his faithful familiar, Hedwig, and his Firebolt broom. As he lay there in the dark that night, wondering idly what happened to them, he realised that, finally at last, he was ready. _It's decided then,_ he thought to himself. _Tomorrow I'm going to find the Twins and then we're gonna go to Hogwarts._

**A/N:** **Hi everyone, hope you enjoyed the newest chapter! I for some reason don't think this chapter had enough plot development, but there really was no way to include the next part, without making it sound odd...**

**Obviously, the next chapter will FINALLY be Hogwarts - I can say now that none of you even came close to guessing who or what faction Padfoot and Prongs come from :D. Well, you'll find out next chapter! Ginny will be coming up soon, too, but not in the next one I think, unless I change my mind. . . **

**If this chapter seems rather short in terms of the shopping to you, that's because I have spent too long reading similar stories which had spent an entire chapter going on about what Harry buys - it was something that I really wanted to avoid, partly due to cliche and partly because IMHO it's really not important what designer brand he wears lol. **

**Now, the wand shop. It's not important, but as a bit of trivia, the owner of the shop is a seer. She knows who is coming and what they need before they do themselves...and the idea is not mine. I don't remember whose it is, but it IS from a fanfic on this sight, so a nod to that author (if anyone knows, pls tell me!). **

**I have had several people in fact give me constructive criticism about the way Fred and George speak, so I would like to thank Ixde and dragyn in particular for their reviews! I truly hadn't noticed that before, but as you can see, I've changed the way they speak - is that better? :D**

**Ubetiburn - glad you are trying my story, I hope I don't disappoint! I don't know why you don't like Harry/Ginny, I think she fits him better than anyone :P Maybe I'll convert you by the end of this lol.**

******Thanks to everyone who reviewed! The last chapter's small cliffie certainly got a lot of reviews :P. I can scarcely believe it myself, but the last chapter generated TWELVE reviews wow... that's awesome! As this IS a drama, I guarantee there will be more cliffies just to keep things interesting hahaha and...I'm currently planning out the MOTHER of all cliffies for somewhere down the line, so R&R!**

******Until the next chapter,**

******PowerOfOne**


	9. Chapter 8 - The Widow and the Mother

**Chapter 8 - The Widow and the Mother**

An island in the middle of a raging sea.

The eye of a powerful storm.

The last tree in an arid desert.

The light of the last candle in the night.

These things were what he had always imagined Hogwarts to be. The castle had seemed impregnable to him, impossible to overwhelm. Even when the world around it fell apart and faded away, he would have thought that Hogwarts, alone but strong nonetheless, would remain. It was the one place which would not – could not – ever fall. The last bastion of hope – for Lord Voldemort could not reach within its walls, he had no power there.

Never had Harry Potter thought there would come a day when those ever-so-familiar towers and parapets could fail to provide him with a sense of security. They rose now into the night sky, terrible shadows that only filled him with foreboding. There they were, the Gryffindor Tower, the Ravenclaw Tower and the Divination Tower. Beneath, the rest of the castle, and, somewhere within, Dumbledore, arguably the most powerful man in the world, sat in his throne like the last of a long line of ancient kings. Soon, he would be within those same walls.

The Shrieking Shack was every bit as decrepit as he remembered it. The land around it was overgrown and unkempt; wild grass crept towards the dirt path that led from the gate to the house, threatening to camouflage it completely. An old tree stood to one side, its gnarled trunk rising barely two metres from the ground, short and stocky, as though it had tried valiantly to reach for the heavens, but gave up and given in to the bitter wind that whistled through its reaching branches, howling like something possessed.

The house itself was wasting away much like the tree, its once sturdy walls now full of side, gaping holes where wood had once been, but had since rotted and disintegrated with the passing of time. The windows and doorway were boarded up, and no sign of any door or glass remained; the wind was gentler here, whispering their secrets through the dark, empty corridors, gathering debris and dust together as though for some exclusive, secret gathering, before whisking them away as though they had never been there. The roof was the only part of the building that seemed relatively intact, its hard, dark shingles layered on top of each other like a suit of ancient armour; the house didn't look like it could support such a weight – the entire building seemed to sag with exhaustion as it gazed longingly out over the town of Hogsmeade spread before it.

Harry gently pushed open the twisted gate, hearing it creak piteously and feeling its rusted surface rub off on his hands. The vegetation reached for his shins, as if hoping to ensnare him, but he roughly pushed them aside as he made his way toward the front door.

Once upon a time, the boards that had been nailed there to discourage intruders might have been quite difficult to remove - the nails had been driven below the surface of the wood, so that not even a pair of pliers might retrieve them. However, he was a wizard, and the wooden boards were old. He ran his fingers along their surface, trying their strength, before muttering a weak Heaving Hex. The boards gave way before him as though made of plaster, leaving jagged ends on either side like the teeth of some long forgotten creature, left to rot in the midday sun. It was difficult to imagine that these materials had ever been enough to contain a werewolf.

Despite his best efforts, his footsteps still echoed into the heavy silence as he crept along the abandoned hallways. A thick layer of dust blanket the contents of the entire house, from the broken chairs lying where they had fallen after being thrown, to the broken table, looking injured as it sat on its side, one of its legs all the way across the room. The dust hovered in the air, too, getting caught in his hair and his clothes, making it look like he had a serious problem with dandruff, and tickling his nose, forcing him to stop several times to hold back a sneeze. Ghosts don't sneeze.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that this was the same house that his Dad's friends had spent a few nights a month in. This was where they had fought, laughed and cried, where they had endeavoured to make their experience each month a little more than it was, for their friend – an obscene form of natural torture. However, he had a hard time reconciling the two images he had of the Shack, the one that he had been told about and the one he was in now. He almost couldn't believe that they were the same one – this one felt lonely and empty. It felt dead.

With relief Harry found the tunnel that he knew would lead him onto the Hogwarts grounds. It was much smaller than he remembered it – or perhaps he was just much bigger – and smelt of dampness and mildew, and as he crawled, he could feel the wet earth against his palm, feel his hand sinking into it, feel the slipperiness of the fungus. He felt a shiver travel through his body. Quite frankly, having never been a fan of Herbology, it was . . . unpleasant.

The light that greeted him at the entrance to the hidden tunnel had never felt better after the tunnels. However, it also signified one of the most dangerous parts of the twin's plan. Before he dared begin, he took a deep breath, knowing that soon, there might be a chance to. Then, after carefully sticking his head out to satisfy himself that there weren't any nearby observers, Harry dashed out from between the roots of the Whomping Willow, pulling out the invisibility cloak that he had been leant in one smooth motion. Fortunately, his practice paid off and the cloak covered him almost instantly. Had anyone been watching, they may have seen a flash of colour for the briefest of moments, but nothing more.

The grounds still looked exactly as he remembered it, in better times when his largest concerns were exams and girls, rather than two of the most powerful Wizards in the world. Hogwarts had always been picturesque, but he had never taken to time when he was in school to truly appreciate it, the way the soft hillsides swayed with the wind, the multicoloured wildflowers singing their silent song in the meadow. Behind them, he saw Hogwarts Castle, grand, almost intimidating and, for the first time in his life, foreboding.

Harry could later recall very little of sneaking through the castle towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. His mind had been otherwise preoccupied – preoccupied with the fact that, despite all the time that had passed and everything he had been through, the castle hadn't changed at all. The warm, red-orange light of the torches that lined the walls bathed the corridors in a homely glow. Creeping through those passages, he felt almost twelve or thirteen again, trying not to get caught by the care-taker for being out of bounds.

And then, suddenly, he was there. Right next to the sink in the Fourth Floor girls' bathroom, standing in water almost an inch deep, still invisible under his invisibility cloak. He found the small snake symbol carved on one side and, just as the last time he was there, almost 9 years ago, he moved his head back and forth slightly, trying to imagine that the snake was real.

Before he'd had a chance to utter a single syllable, a high pitched voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Who's there?" Myrtle screeched as she suddenly sot out of a toilet stall towards the back of the room. Her transparent eyes darted around the room suspiciously, from corner to corner, from ceiling to floor. Then she spotted the two footprint shaped circles in the flooded bathroom, where the water could not go. "FOOOOUNNND YOUUUUU!"

_Dammit!_ Harry wasn't sure what would happen if Myrtle flew right through where he was. Would she then see him hiding under his invisibility cloak? It wasn't something he was particularly interested in finding out.

‽Open‽ He hissed in Parseltongue. Myrtle screamed and rocketed around the room as the his voice sliced through air. If he concentrated, he could just distinguish the hissing sound that everyone else could hear.

Just as he remembered, the sinks rearranged themselves to form a large opening that descended into darkness. Behind him, Myrtle looked as though she was deep in thought. He jumped before she could cause any more trouble, hissing as he did so ‽Close‽

_Rip. Tear. Kill._

Those were the words that had started him on the path that had led him into these very chambers all those years ago. If he had been an ordinary person, perhaps, then they, as well as the creature that said them, might have remained in his memories long after it was all over, but he had already seen much worse the previous year.

In fact, his last journey through the slime covered, bone carpeted passages was faint in his memory. Much of it had been lost to him, but he could never figure out if it was because he hadn't paid attention to it at the time, or because Azkaban had affected him, had torn to shreds the parts of him that he didn't think to protect. Or perhaps it was his choice to forget about it.

The Chamber had only two barriers. Whether that was because Slytherin had thought no one would be able to find the location of his greatest secret, or because he thought that even if it was discovered it could not be breached, Harry didn't know. The first was in the Girl's Bathroom. Its sinks were the perfect hiding place for the entrance, looking completely inconspicuous. It was, after all, the last place anyone would look.

The second . . . was the one he stood in front of now. Despite the time that had passed since he had last been there, the solid metal door had no more changed than the castle above it. The ornate patterns across its surface glinted in the dim light, and the eyes of the serpents gleamed at him through the darkness. Standing in front of these creatures, he thought it was easy to understand why snakes had both fascinated and terrified the Ancient Peoples so, why the Egyptians worshipped them. It was a healthy respect for a dangerous enemy.

‽Open‽

His voice seemed unnaturally loud in the silence, and the words seemed to cling ominously in the air. Like before, the metal in front of him slithered into life – he watched as the eyes began to glow and the tails begin to twitch. He watched as one of the serpents glided around the perimeter of the door and the others tucked themselves away to allow it passage. Perhaps he had been too worried about his best friend's sister at the time, but the details he had not picked up danced in front of him now as he idly admired its craftsmanship. Was it his imagination, or was there an answering hiss coming from the door itself?

If there was, it was soon lost amidst the sound of grinding metal and stone as, once again, the Chamber of Secrets opened and Harry Potter stepped inside.

The old woman stood alone. Her hair was wispy and frail, which was exactly how her diminutive body looked. Unlike most Witches and Wizards, she wearing a robe. Instead, she was decked in an assortment of muggle clothing, complete with a purple shawl. In Harry's opinion she almost looked like one of those grandmothers in muggle fairytales, except –

In her right hand, she clutched a wooden walking stick. Though she faced away from him towards the giant statue of Salazaar Slytherin, she held the stick to the side, and that gave him the opportunity to observe it in detail, and see the ball of fire that glowed in the mouth of the very real looking dragon perched on its end. Her left hand was empty, the withered looking skin stretched over the bone thin form gave it a distinctly claw like appearance. Her lack of movement was so absolute that Harry would have thought her dead, had she been lying down. Even when he approached, his hesitant footsteps echoing in the vast cavern, she did not acknowledge him, or give any indication she knew he was there at all. And then, in a tone encased with the hardest steel –

"Why have you come here?"

It was a simple question, but Harry hesitated to respond. Not only was he unsure whether or not he could trust the woman, something about her was simply overwhelming. He had never felt his life was more in danger in any situation than he did standing behind the woman. It wasn't an ever present danger that he often associated with Voldemort, but more a sense that, if he said anything wrong, he would die. It wasn't something that might happen or could be prevented, it was a fate that had been written in stone. That was why he remained silent.

"Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. The woman's voice sounded oddly disjointed and hovered on two different levels, as though there were two people saying the exact same thing at exactly the same time. It was almost impossible for him to tell which one was her real voice."You have come here for answers . . . five, six years ago . . . yes? Well then, how can you possibly obtain them without speaking?"

"Who are you?" Harry demanded, reaching into his robes for his wand. "How could you possibly know what I want?"

It seemed his words had triggered something in the crooked body before him, for the woman suddenly spun around. The ball of fire in the staff seemed to pulse like a heartbeat, growing larger and faster with each second. The light threw flickering shadows onto her wrinkled face, illuminating her long nose and unnaturally pale eyes.

"Who . . . am I?" The woman seemed to give the question some thought before she answered. "If you were asking my occupation, then you could call me the Widow. If you were asking about my perceived role, then I might be called the Opportunistic Observer. If you wanted to know me by the time at which I was at my best, I would be called the Mother. But, of course, you are asking my name . . ." There was a long pause. "Names are powerful things. The right to one – it's given away too easily these days. To know my name, you must _earn _it, boy!"

"Fine then, was it you who sent people to help me a few days ago?" The woman seemed to want to play games, but he didn't have the patience for it. "How did they know to use those names?"

The woman's voice dropped suddenly to a raspy whisper. "_He knows_. _He doesn't hide anything from us. We know what he knows, and he knows what we want to know_." Her eyes bored into his own as she stepped forward until she was right in front of him. He watched, entranced almost, as an inky black smoke seemed to swirl within them. She seemed to have found what she was searching for in his expression, because she turned away and shuffled soundlessly towards the statue once more. From where he stood, it almost seemed like she was gliding.

"You should go, Harry Potter," she called over her shoulder as she moved slowly away. The only sound that could be heard was the clacking sound of the walking stick striking the stone floor. "I am tired. You should go and . . . yes, you should go see your old house. It will be of interest to you."

Harry opened his mouth, but realised he had no idea what to say. And then – "Hang on! You – you haven't even told me anything yet! You can't go yet!" He tried to chase after her, but almost fell over. Startled, he glanced down to find that his shoes had been encased with stone. The reason why he hadn't felt it was because it wasn't heavy – if stone was could grow, he would have said that it had grown around his feet.

The crone ignored him completely as she made her way towards one of the branch tunnels and kept walking. Though he had his wand in his hand, Harry wasn't quite sure what spell to use, and he wasn't going to curse an old woman anyway. "Oi! Come back!" he shouted, but she paid him no attention. Just before she disappeared into the darkness entirely however, she turned back slightly to gaze at him out of the corner of her eyes.

"The Potter's are at Number 5, Godric's Hollow. We'll talk again." Then she was swallowed by the shadows.

It took him almost five hours to get out of the Chamber. After the woman had vanished, the stone that had been trapping him had simply faded away like an illusion. He had tried to find her, but it was impossible to follow her in the maze of tunnels, and he was forced to give up. It wasn't until he was standing under the giant pipe from the Girl's Bathroom that he remembered he had no way of flying back up. It had, after all, been Fawkes who had helped them escape the last time.

Without any other options, he sent a talking Patronus to the twins, thankful that they had insisted he learn this before he came. It had taken the better part of the morning, a whole two hours, but he would have been stuck without it. Unfortunately, the twins couldn't just _disappear_, and he had to wait until the end of the business day before Fred had turned up on a Nimbus with another tucked under his arm. Waiting wasn't a problem. He had waited a long time in Azkaban.

They could only fly as far as the bathroom itself. Afterwards, they pulled out their invisibility cloaks (He had asked the twin how they had managed to acquire so many, to which the twin had only responded with a secretive grin) and snuck back out through the Shrieking Shack.

Naturally, once he had gone back to their shop, through side along apparition, the twins demanded to know what had gone down in the Chamber. Seeing as the old crone had quite literally told him nothing, he saw no harm in relating the entire story to them.

"So she knew who you were, didn't give out any details about herself, seemed to know more than she was letting on, had a strange voice, and told you to visit your old house in Godric's Hollow?" Fred concluded after listening with a furrowed brow.

"She didn't deny that she sent those people to help you," George noted, nodding at Harry, "At least she's on your side, even if she is insane."

"She didn't acknowledge it either," Harry reminded, sighing. "And we still have no idea what her purpose is. It's the not knowing who she is that really gets me though. Should I visit the house?"

"Well . . ." George said, exchanging a glance with his brother. "The location isn't that hard to find, seeing as she gave you the location. We can go there now, if you want." Fred leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on the table, forcing Harry to hide a reluctant smirk at what Mrs. Weasley would have said if she had seen his manners.

"Didn't the Goblins buy the property for you? And you bought it off them, right?" he asked, flicking his wand and causing three bottles of butterbeer to come flying through the room. He passed one to each of the other two and motioned for them to drink up. They obliged. "So we can go whenever. Now's probably not a good time. How about tomorrow morning?"

Harry wanted to go immediately. Was it the way the woman had told him to visit? Was it his own intuition? Perhaps he was just a little bit too eager to see the place where it had all started? Whatever the reason, he was sure that going there was important, and it seemed almost senseless to wait. Even as impatient as he was, however, he realised that Fred's words did make sense, so he held his tongue. He had no idea what he was supposed to be looking for there, but in the dim light, he'd probably miss it.

George, seeing that the discussion, not there had been much of one, was over, stood and turned to him. "Hey Harry, you still got that room in the Leaky?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, following suit and grabbing his cloak from behind his chair. "why?"

"Well, we just thought that you might like to stay with us instead of wasting your gold," Fred replied in his brother's stead.

"Oh," Harry said, now understanding the query. "Don't worry about it, Tom expects me back today anyway, and I reckon I can stay there for at least a while longer."

"Alright then!" Fred said cheerfully, handing Harry's unfinished butterbeer to him. "Come back after you've eaten, and we'll go together. We'd shout you dinner, but . . . well, we're going to eat with the family."

The family.

The family the Harry himself had once been a part of.

The family that would have opened a space for him at their table without question now couldn't even be allowed to see him without raising suspicions.

There was an awkward silence, followed by a series of even more awkward farewells, and Harry headed out into the night.

**A/N: Whoa. It's been like 2 weeks now? since my last update. . . I am SO SORRY! I've just been really busy with my exams and the like, that I _really _haven't had any time at all to hash out this chapter, which actually presented a few problems to me because I couldn't decide how I wanted to introduce the woman or Hogwarts... :/ WELL at least its finally out now. The _good_ news is that although I haven't been writing, I _have _been planning. This means that there should be much fewer delays in the future! It also means that this story, which I felt was slipping a bit of the track, will be fully back on track as of next chapter - Godric's Hollow. There will be questions raised (very few answered :/) and a meeting with an old friend...so look forward to it! It should come within the next few days.**

**T. H. Enesly, I didn't explain myself very well . . . i didn't actually mean _cliffies_ (bad use of wording) but a continuation that will make readers keep reading! Am I achieving it so far? lol**

**Kiwifan13, haha yea, I really don't like how people make him buy all this overpowered stuff and describe it in sickening detail either :P. Your welcome lol**

**Tronishere, does this chapter disappoint? Sorry :/ I wanted to move it along, but I found I really couldnt, without making it twice as long. . . ah well. Next chapter will have Godric's Hollow, and the mystery will begin to unravel - the problem is right now that Harry is searching for answers to a question he doesn't even know yet! **


	10. Chapter 9 - Godric's Hollow

**Chapter 9 - Godric's Hollow**

Godric's Hollow. Birth place of one of the most famous Wizards of all time, Godric Gryffindor. To expect a monument, or some sort of statue in the area would not have been an unreasonable assumption, considering the small, sleepy town was one of the most famous places in the Magical World.

In fact, there _was_ a monument in Godric's Hollow. A statue, depicting a handsome young man with messy hair and round glasses, a beautiful, long haired woman standing beside him and, in their arms, a baby that couldn't have been more than one year old.

Immortalised in stone, the young family gazed unflinchingly out towards their former house, looking regal and proud. They stood as they had during their lives, unyielding in the face of the Evil against which they were pitted, and yet, upon closer investigation, was it simply the imagination of the visitor, or were the three locked eternally in an expression of longing, and wistfulness?

They had given many times more than was their due, and, in death, they delivered their people from a hopeless future. They provided their people with what was denied to them. They set the track for a life free from oppression and fear, and, even now, like sentinels, they seemed to be standing guard, in the same place where they had lost their lives.

31 October, 1981. Halloween. A holiday originally intended to keep away the Darkness for another year. On that day, a true Darkness was vanquished. Everyone celebrated.

They celebrated the fact that they no longer had to fear for their lives. They celebrated the fact that they no longer had to wonder if they were going to survive to see the sun rise again. They celebrated the fact that the terrible end to their perfectly ordered society had been averted.

They celebrated the fact that they themselves no longer had to fight, the fact that someone else had fought for them.

Did they forget, or simply ignore, the unmentioned consequences? That on 31 August, 1981, a new family was torn apart. Their story was cut short, ended before it had truly begun. The next chapter of their lives was one that would never be written. Amidst all the joy, the Wizarding World had forgotten, or chosen to ignore, the price they had paid to achieve their victory, and the fact that there lay two young people would never celebrate ever again.

Of course, the manner in which they died, and the means by which their only son lived, was so unique, so spectacular, that there existed no better place to hide an even larger secret, one that was equally, if not more, important and one that was most assuredly still alive.

There were so many things Harry had never learnt to do because of his conviction, and apparating was one of them. That was why, the day after he had stolen into Hogwarts, he asked Fred Weasley to take him through side along apparition to Godric's Hollow.

They appeared with a loud crack just behind the town church. Having extensively studied maps of the area, he and the twins had decided then night before that it would be the best place to arrive at, out of the way of muggle eyes. Fortunately, they were proven to be correct, as there was not a single soul to be seen around the building, or in the small graveyard beyond it.

Harry never felt Fred let go of his arm. A small breeze drifted through the branches of the surrounding trees, and they sounded to him like the whispers of the souls whose mortal forms lay in the ground beneath his feet. They beckoned him with a crooked finger, they led him on with their quiet guidance, and he followed willingly, one foot after another, step by step, until he stood alone in the field of tombstones.

_Of course,_ he thought, his gaze falling on the carefully chiselled surfaces, some of which had been adorned with fresh looking wreathes. Turning back, he saw that Fred had moved to stand by the gate. The twin gave him a firm nod._ My parents are probably buried here._ He wasn't sure why the thought hadn't occurred to him before. Why, in the five years since he had known of the Wizarding World, he had never thought to ask where his parents had been laid to rest. But it was better late than never.

And so, shuffling softly from one grave to the next, he began to search. It seemed that the newest were located at the back of the cemetery, because some of the tombstones down the front were so weathered they couldn't be read at all. On one, he read

_They died so that others might live._

He wondered how much bloodshed the small town had seen, if his parents hadn't been the first to suffer unnatural deaths.

He had nearly reached the end of third last row when he happened upon it, a slab that was noticeably larger and more ornate than the rest. It was ringed by a series of delicate, swirling patterns, and the face of it seemed almost unnaturally smooth. It bore none of the signs of weathering that the other tombstones had clearly experienced, and the material was smoother than anything Harry had ever seen before. One the centre, someone had carved in perfect, beautiful calligraphy the name, and the epitaph as well probably by the same craftsman.

_Kendra Dumbledore_

_And her Daughter_

_Ariana Dumbledore_

_There are many Fates worse than Death._

There was no date. Harry wondered why Albus Dumbledore had never thought to mention that he had once lived in Godric's Hollow too. It wasn't that big a town – they might have even been neighbours. He hadn't even known Dumbledore had a sister. No one had ever mentioned it, and he had thought the only sibling the professor had was his brother, Aberforth.

"There are many Fates worse than Death," he muttered under his breath. It was certainly true. There were many things he considered much worse than death and sitting in Azkaban knowing he was innocent was one of them. Looking around, he tried to find a tombstone for Dumbledore's father, but it seemed only two Dumbledores had ever been buried here in Godric's Hollow.

Taking a step back, he conjured a bunch of roses which he placed gently on top of the grave. Then he moved on.

_Abbot_. _That might have been some long lost relative of Hannah Abbot. . ._

_Peverell. Why does that name sound so familiar?_

And then, finally, on the last grave, carved it seemed with the uttermost care, was _Potter._ At first, he thought the date was wrong, but then he looked up at the name. _It can't be, _he thought to himself, his eyes fixed on the words engraved into the stone.

_Harry Potter_

_B. 31 July 1980 D. 5 February 1999_

_Let him be remembered as the Hero he once was._

Someone had quite clearly paid a lot for his tombstone, for it was crafted out of marble, the letters painted gold, the gleaming white surface easily standing out from the others around it. The colouring was such a distinguishing factor that Harry wondered how it could have possibly escaped his attention until now.

_I'm dead_. It wasn't a particularly surprising thought. He had long since suspected that the majority of the Wizarding World thought he was dead. In fact, Gringotts had told him so. Nonetheless, it was confronting to see the solid proof right before his eyes, marked by white marble. His only supporters, who knew he was alive, was the red haired man waiting patiently behind him, and the man's twin brother. That was it.

"Let him be remembered," Harry repeated, staring, "as the Hero he once was." Obviously, someone who thought he was guilty had chosen the words.

"Blimely, I completely forgot about that!" muttered a quiet voice suddenly from right behind him, making him jump. Fred Weasley stood with his hands in the pockets of his muggle jeans, gazing pensively at the gravestone. "Me and George never went to the funeral, you know. Didn't believe you were guilty, and didn't believe you died."

"You knew this was here then?"

"Dumbledore chose the location and the words, and we knew about it, yeah," explained Fred, looking to Harry as if the gauge his reaction, "I think it was Mum who mentioned it to the family. I'm not sure if Ginny knows, she never answered Mum's letter."

"There was no funeral?"

"George and I came to visit afterwards, but none of the others did. Not sure who went to the funeral, sorry."

"I'm touched." Harry commented dryly. In truth, he wasn't sure how he felt about those he once considered family not even bothering to go to his funeral. Even if they had abandoned him, he would have thought they would have at least the decency to show up. "Thanks for coming."

Fred chose not to reply, and no reply was needed.

"The house now?" he asked, glancing towards the street.

"Yeah," Harry answered. "Let's go."

The main street of Godric's Hollow (he didn't see its name) was completely deserted. Given the time of the day, late morning, Harry would have expected many more people to be out and about. In Privet Drive, the neighbours would all be loitering in their gardens or driveways, pretending to water the flowers or wash the car, when in reality they were simply hoping to catch a sign of what their neighbours were doing.

Godric's Hollow, however, seemed like a private place where residents kept to themselves and minded their own business. Curtains were drawn over windows, doors were left shut and gardens left alone – in his opinion, that made them look far more natural and beautiful than the painfully neat rows in his Aunt's flowerbed. It truly was the perfect place for his parent's to hide in, because chances were few people would even know they were there.

Potter Cottage wasn't in Godric's Hollow, really. Although its address was, it was so far enough on the outskirts that it couldn't really be called a part of town at all.

The crumbling, vine ridden stone wall was the first indication that there was another property there. It was not ramrod straight, but slightly crooked and quite obviously handmade. Someone had looked around and found stones that were approximately the right size and shape, chiselled them out a bit, stacked them, and bound them together with old fashioned, hand mixed mortar that told quite a lot about the age and history behind the house.

Absent-mindedly, Harry reached out with his left hand and ran it along the rough, somewhat mossy surface. He should have known this wall well. The yard beyond it, that was where he should have played when he was younger, and the house – had things been different, this would have been his home.

"James?" It took him a moment to remember that the name referred to him. They couldn't be sure that they were alone anymore, and it was important to keep his identity hidden. Looking up, he saw Fred a few metres ahead, gesturing towards a break in the wall, where a small, weather-beaten wooden gate stood between two faded sky-blue posts. On one side hung a rusted metal 2 and beneath it, a 0. Number 20. The nails in both looked as though they were about to fall out at any moment.

Perhaps he had been putting it off because he wasn't sure what he was going to find. Perhaps he just simply couldn't bear to look at all, to see solid proof that it had happened just in front of him. That his parents died here, along with the most powerful Dark Wizard the world had ever known. Whatever the reason, it wasn't until he was standing squarely in front of that gate that he brought his gaze up over the boundaries of the property and took in the crumbling house before him.

He thought he could hear Fred mumbling about how the Fidelius Charm must have failed as the house was visible, but he wasn't paying attention. He didn't acknowledge Fred opening the gate for him as he approached or the question of whether he wanted to check out the house alone. He simply concentrated on the next step he had to take along the gravel path that brought him closer to his former home.

He had barely set foot inside the grounds when, with the slightest of rustling, a sign rose out of the ground in front of him, up through the tangles of nettle and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower. In golden letters upon the wood it said

_On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family._

And all round these neatly lettered words scribbles hd been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood; still others had left messages.

'_Good luck, Harry, wherever you are.' 'If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!' 'Long live Harry Potter.'_

"Want me to clean the sign?" questioned Fred, raising his wand, but Harry shook his head.

"No," he said, a grateful smile creeping onto his face, "I'm glad they left their support here." It had been a long time since that many people had rooted for him and, despite how much he had hated people fawning over him, he would have taken that any day over everyone glaring at him with distrust and hatred.

The house itself was surprisingly intact. It was an old stone brick house, and so the outside walls had never been painted; the glass of the windows were unbroken, if a bit dusty; and the guttering might have been rusted, but looked to be in perfect working order. There was little to suggest that the house was anything but liveable. Little, that is, except for the gaping hole on the building's front left corner on the second floor.

It looked almost as if a bomb had gone of there and, upon consideration, Harry decided it really wasn't that far from the truth. A magical bomb, at least. The edges of the hole were jagged and uneven, and much of it had been charred completely black. From what he could see from where he stood in the yard, little remained from inside the room, and he couldn't locate the missing pieces of the wall anywhere. He didn't need anything to tell him what had happened there, of course. It was there that the life he knew, life at the Dursleys, without a true family and with no understanding of what had happened, had come to pass.

"I don't think you should go in," cautioned Fred, eyeing the property warily, "It might not be very stable." Harry waved him off. This was his home. He wasn't going to turn back now.

The door was unlocked. It only took the gentlest of pushes to make it swing open with an echoing creak. "Blimely1" muttered Fred, and that just about summed it up.

As untarnished as the outside of Potter Cottage may have seemed, the inside had been left in chaos. There must have been some sort of shelf in the hallway, because the remains of one lay haphazardly where it had fallen. The back of it was riddled with holes that had been caused by blocked spells, judging from the spell burn marks that covered the walls. There were holes in the wall, too, from misaimed curses that had drilled right through, and, like grey snow, a thick layer of dust covered everything. Probably none of the visitors to the site had ever moved past the front yard, possibly as a sign of respect.

This, Harry realised, was probably where his Dad had tried to hold off Voldemort for as long as possible to give his Mum time to escape. Not that there really was anywhere to go, since Voldemort was blocking the front door. It was an impossible situation, but doubt such things weren't running through the mind of James Potter when he had decided to sacrifice himself for his family.

The damage to the house and furniture decreased as Harry moved further into the house. There were less spell marks on the walls, and less furniture scattered across the rooms as though they had been used as shields. It wasn't that the fight had calmed down, of that he had no doubt. Unfortunately, it was more probably because more spells were hitting their marks. James Potter was losing, and Voldemort could now take his time – he knew there was nowhere for Lily to go.

He passed the kitchen, and what looked like the living room on his way to the stairs. And then, just before he reached the foot of the stairs, he stopped outside what seemed like a study guest bedroom. It was completely untouched, and without a scratch. This had to be where James Potter fell.

Behind him, he felt rather than saw Fred draw his wand. "Careful. . ." the twin muttered, and Harry could understand the feeling. Suddenly seeing an area so unblemished after all that chaos definitely made one feel like there was something even worse simply waiting to jump out.

Step by step, he crept up the stairs towards the second floor, causing them to grown piteously in the ominous silence. _The damage to my room must have weakened the house,_ Harry thought as he a second round of squeaking wood signify that Fred had begun his ascent as well.

He wasn't even sure why he was being so cautious. After all, there was no reason for Voldemort or his Death Eaters to come here again, to the ruins of an old house where no one lived. Perhaps Fred's nervous attitude was affecting him, or maybe he was causing Fred to be nervous. Whatever the reason, he snuck down the second floor hallway as stealthily as he could manage in a building which shouted out his presences every time his foot touched the floor.

_Actually, _Harry realised, almost chuckling out loud at the irony, _out of everyone in the world who knows about this place, I probably have the most right to be here. _

First, he passed what looked very much like his parent's bedroom. The door almost entirely shut and, despite his yearning curiosity, he made no move to open it further. Instead, he pressed on, acquiescing to his even greater desire to find his own room.

The next door he came to was a guest bedroom. The door was wide open this time, and the sight of the interior of the room forced him to a standstill, barely registering the fact that Fred had provided no comment, but come to a similar stop unquestioning behind him.

It wasn't the colour of the walls, or the size of the bed, or indeed the room itself that threw him, but rather the little things; it was the way clothes had been thrown all over the floor; it was the way the bed was unmade and quite dishevelled; it was the way that writing materials including an eagle feather quill and an ink bottle were still set up on the desk. It was like someone had frozen time only inside that room, and if it wasn't for the layer of dust that blanketed everything, so thick that it quite capably changed the colour of everything to a dullish grey, he would have thought the occupant of the room had simply just stepped out for the briefest of moments.

_Who had been in this room?_ Harry wondered, running through a list of names in his head. It could be Sirius, who he could definitely imagine staying over more often than not. Remus Lupin was an equally likely possibility.

"You know, I can't believe I haven't asked before, or heard anyone else ask," Fred spoke up suddenly from right beside him, snapping him abruptly from his musings, "but who was your Mum friends with?"

"Hmm?" Harry questioned noncommittally, his eyes still fixed on the bed.

"Well it's just that everyone knows about your Dad, Sirius, Professor Lupin and Pettigrew, but what about your Mum? Who was she friends?"

"Why do you ask?" Harry thought it was an extremely irrelevant and odd question to just suddenly pop up, but Fred simply gestured towards the far side of the room, where a magnificent oak wardrobe stood wide open. After letting the image sink in, Harry found it quite obvious that Sirius and Professor Lupin couldn't have been the occupants of the room after all. The wardrobe was full of dresses.

"Do you know any names?" Fred queried, having gently pushed past Harry to examine to room from the inside. He reached the desk and began sifted through the dusty parchments, even the ones that had blown onto the floor.

Before Harry could respond, there was an almighty _CREAK!_ louder than the floorboards, causing him to whirl around with his wand out to face the third room. Standing there, framed by the rotting wooden doorway and looking not the least perturbed by the fact that there were two wands pointing at her (Fred having rushed out into the hallway again at the sound), was the old crone, looking exactly as she had in the chamber, including the purple shawl.

"That is the question, isn't it, Harry Potter?" she asked, giving the men a grin that revealed a mouth full of broken and yellowed teeth. "After all, if you knew that, so _many_ of your other questions might be answered as well. . ."

It wasn't Harry, but Fred who spoke, the tension making him sound distinctly cold and obnoxious, "Who're you, then?"

Before he could do anything else, however, Harry lowered his wand and pushed Fred's down, breathing a sigh of relief that it wasn't someone much worse. It wasn't that he trusted the woman, for he knew way too little to do so. It was simply that he truly felt that, had she wanted to harm him, he wouldn't be standing in the house where his parents had died at all, but rather next to them, probably in an unmarked grave.

"What are you doing here? How did you know where I was and what do you want?" He asked rapidly instead. Glancing ever so slightly sideways at Fred, he imperceptibly shook his head.

The crone raised both hands into the air to show that she wasn't carrying any wands as a guesture of peace.

"What am I doing here? I'm just saying a hello, checking to see how you're investigation is going. As for how I knew you two were here, well, wasn't _I_ the one who told you to come? You needn't worry 'bout me, I'm only here to help."

"Why?" Fred responded.

"Because," the woman said, snorting with impatience, "your _friend_ is angry. He's angry at how his closest allies abandoned him, how the law let him down and how his _esteemed _headmaster left him to rot! And yet, even worse than that, you, _Potter_ aren't nearly as angry with Albus Dumbledore as you should be."

Harry felt a chill run down his spine. Without any need for further prompting, his memory dragged forward a conversation he'd had with Dumbledore almost six years ago, like it had been on a tape recorder that was only waiting for the best moment to play.

"_You will," Dumbledore was saying calmly as he watched his office being demolished, "because you are not nearly as angry with me as you out to be."_

On that day, Harry had learnt the terrible secret that Dumbledore had kept from him, the secret that should never have been hidden in the first place. During his trial, he had often wondered why the venerable headmaster hadn't made a greater effort to discover the truth, hadn't made a greater attempt to save the nearly sixteen year old boy sitting in front of him who was, after all the Chosen One. And though his anger had slowly turned to determination, an unstoppable determination for revenge, he didn't think he could calmly take the knowledge that the old man had still more secrets.

"Wha – What else did he keep from me?" Harry growled, his eyes fixed on the woman's icy blue orbs.

For a long moment, the woman made no response, save to adjust the edges of her shawl. It was as though she had completely forgotten they were there, but then

"I don't know." She admitted.

"Wait, how can you possibly know Dumbledore had more secrets, and I don't even know what the other secrets you two are talking about are, if you don't even know what the secret is?" Fred butted in, having holstered his wand when it became apparent that the woman wasn't, for the moment, a threat. She slowly switched her unnatural gaze to him, and the twin visibly gulped.

"I don't know many things," she acknowledged, "but an inbred infant could recognise that the facts don't add up. All four bedrooms on this floor were being used when the Dark Lord Voldemort made his fateful visit here. Yours," she said, nodding at Harry, "Your parents', the guest bedroom, and the room which I came from."

"What's in the room you came from?" Harry interrupted, ignoring his better judgement and striding towards her to see for himself. She made no move to stop him, and actually moved aside to let him pass, and he entered a warm looking room with soft, peach pink coloured walls. There was little furniture in it, which made it look for all the world like a room that was still being put together. In fact, the only noticeable piece of furniture in the room was the crib, standing smack bang in the centre of it all.

"There's nothing in this room," Harry observed out loud, giving the interior another careful once over before turning back to the woman. Fred stood uncertainly behind her, looking as though he was caught between moving to join Harry and not wanted to go anywhere closer to the strange woman.

"There isn't." The woman echoed, nodding. "And that, is exactly why-" she suddenly stopped, as though she was choking. She opened and closed her mouth several times like a dying fish, but was unable to make a sound. Frowning, she shut her mouth with a snap.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked hurriedly, raising his wand. He wasn't sure what he could do, but he wasn't about to simply let her choke to death. When she next tried to talk however, it became apparent that she was fine.

"Lower your wand boy, there's nothing you can do." She commanded, giving a weary sigh. "I've _heard_ things, things that you would be very interested to know, but I can't say them. _I can't say them_ so work it out yourself. I've pointed you in the right direction already, haven't I?"

"The crib?"

"Let me put this very simply for you. _It's not yours."_

"That's insane." Fred suddenly spoke up, making Harry, who had completely forgotten he was there, jump. "If it's not Harry's, the who? He was the only baby here."

"And James and Lily Potter were the only two adults? They had visitors still, you know, since the Fidelius Charm was supposed to be foolproof. . .they thought it was _safe_ for Black, Lupin and Pettigrew to come see them. That should tell you, at least, that there is quite a high chance that-" she stopped again, but it no longer mattered, because Harry managed to finish the sentence for her.

"-that they weren't the only ones here." The woman remained silent, but Harry was unperturbed. He knew that there were things that she simply couldn't say.

"Why didn't anyone else know about what you're suggesting?" Fred asked sharply, having put aside his reservations and walked around the crone to examine the room himself. The woman ignored him completely, and instead, raised a eyebrow at Harry.

"Have you been to visit your parents graves yet?"

"I couldn't fi-"

"You won't." It wasn't a question, and suddenly, Harry thought he understood what she was getting that.

"They were killed by the killing curse. It leaves no marks, and doesn't damage the body," Fred said out loud, evidently having caught the strand of thought as well. "Hagrid was responsible for bringing Harry to his Aunt's place. It was in one of the articles they wrote about you after your death. They basically wrote your biography," he added in response to Harry's amazed look.

"And yet the bodies were never found?"

"Someone removed them," Harry responded, drawing the expected and obvious conclusion. "Someone who might have been in the house."

"Why?" The crone prompted, slowly tilting her head to once side.

"Because. . ." Harry began, but then he stopped, stumped. Who had anything to gain by removing the dead bodies?

"It must be 'cos. . ." and Fred paused, having met a similar brick wall.

"Find out then." Without warning, the crone turned and, with amazing agility for someone who looked to be her age, ambled down the steps. Both Harry and Fred made to follow her. They were by no means done, and she, it seemed, had the answers.

"Oi WAIT!" Fred bellowed as he drew close to the doorway, with Harry right behind them. Faster than either of them could react, the door to the room slammed shut. Or it would have slammed, but despite the speed at which it moved, it closed soundlessly. There was no lock, magical or otherwise, so it was a simple matter for Fred to twist the knob and wrench it open. He rushed down the stairs with Harry on his heels, almost tripping twice, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.

They rushed out into the yard, ignoring the wooden sign and glanced up and down the street. Nothing. It was as though the woman had simply vanished.

Fred had an even deeper frown than the one he previously wore as he turned to face Harry, and Harry almost laughed out loud. He, for some reason, found it incredibly amusing that one of the Weasley twins was looking so serious. Fred opened his mouth, presumably to either ask what was so funny or request an explanation about the crone.

Before he could do either, however, a soft, startled voice caused them to whirl around.

"Fred? What are you doing here?!"

Standing across the street, with a worried, questioning look on her face and an armload of groceries, was a red-haired girl, unmistakeable despite the fact that, naturally, she was much older than when Harry had last seen her.

**A/N: um...my apologies? I am SO SORRY that it's taken me like FIVE weeks or something to post this chapter online. To be honest, I hadn't planned on posting, or writing, at all, because I am in Year 12 and literally like a week from my HSCs now, but...I COULDN'T resist :) **

**Besides, I decided, very late, and I'm really sorry, that I couldn't leave all my readers hanging wondering what had happened to me. It was really inconsiderate, and so, hoping it wasn't too late, I put a message on my Author's Profile a few days ago (I don't know if anyone read it). Have I lost all my readers? A lot of people are following this story so I hope you guys will come back at least :P. I DID say I wasn't going to abandon it, and I'm not, but I was going to save publishing more till after my tests. I've changed my mind because I cant stop lol.**

**SO**

**This is how its going to be for now - I HAVE kept writing, just no editing or posting. I am now several chapters ahead, so the posts should come _slightly_ earlier than weekly from now for a few chapters. NO MORE DELAYS! After a bit it'll slow down to around once a week again tho, as I might or might not catch up to myself...but I HAVE completely planned AND smoothed out the plot. So hopefully, I can just sit down each night and simply _write_. Thank you ALL for having SO much patience!**

**A/N 2: BACK TO THE STORY - all you Ginny-lovers out there, get ready for the next chapter, cos she is COMING BACK :P! (I REALLY hope you realised that last girl was her, because it wasn't meant to be a cliff hanger, at least not in that area, so if you're confused I probably just suck haha). The old crone is back again. . . you probably [;)] will see her in the future...again...wonder who she is. Actually, there's been a few guess already, and they have been very creative and quite enjoyable to read, it gives me some insight into you, my readers! **

**Tron, a very interesting suggestion, and if this was your story, I would be very interested to read how you would fit that in, its an excellent idea! It IS wrong tho, so guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out the truth! :P**

**Nesciamema, you wanted a reunion with Ginny, well here she is :]! I would have been quite impatient for Ginny to appear to, wow, it's like, chapter ten already O.o. I actually planned to introduce her much earlier originally, but I guess this is the way it's worked out...don't worry, there'll be quite a lot of her, as well as some of our other favourite characters, next chapter! Perhaps an old lady, too. . . **

**Longest A/N I've ever done, but I needed to apologise to all my lovely readers :P. If I haven't lost everyone, then hope you all enjoyed this extra long (4.8k) chapter, and expect to hear from me in less than a week! :D**

**PowerOfOne**


	11. Chapter 10 - Ginny Weasley

**Chapter 10 - Ginny Weasley**

Physically, the Ginny Weasley that stood before him was almost identical to the one in his memories. She had grown her hair out so that it almost reached her waist, falling in gentle waves down her back, but it was the same vivid, fiery shade of red as that of the fourteen year old girl he once knew. She was taller than he remembered, but then again, it _had _been almost six years since he last saw her. Having stayed at the Weasleys during the summer four times, he was no stranger to seeing the Weasley children in muggle clothing during the holidays, and Ginny did not look at all out of place in her casual jeans and emerald green sweater. Even her guarded expression, eyes narrowed in annoyance, was familiar – he had seen it on her face many times as she threatened her brothers with her favourite hexes, often with a wand releasing dangerous sparks at her side.

There was a silence, and then the siblings spoke up at the same time.

"How the _hell _did you find me, Fred?"

"_Ginny?_"

The two redheads sized each other up from across the street. When it looked as though neither of them were going to move or say anything again, Harry decided it was time to step in, glad that he had thought to put up his 'James Evans' disguise that morning.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" asked James politely. His words seemed to jolt them out of whatever rut the Weasleys had been stuck in.

"Ginny, where have you _been_ all this time?" Fred started, hurrying over to her and taking away some of her burdens. Despite the fact that he was inexplicably wary of approaching her, James knew it would be highly suspicious if he stayed exactly where he was, so he was quick to follow.

"Thanks," Ginny said grudgingly as her load was lightened by both Fred and James. It seemed to take a moment for her brother's words to sink in. "Wait, what? You didn't come here because of me?"

"I don't even know who you are, miss," James lied, shifting the bag of vegetables he was now carrying into a more comfortable position, "I don't think we've met."

Ginny looked at him and a small frown crossed her face. "Oh, sorry," she gave Fred a questioning glance, "I'm normally not this rude. I'm Ginny Weasley, Fred's sister." Since many of her bags were now being carried by her brother and the other young man in front of her, she now had a free hand, which she extended for James to shake. James grasped her hand firmly with his own, marvelling at how small it was compared to his own. He shook himself. Now wasn't the time to be noticing such obscure things.

As he tried to let go however, Ginny's grip tightened. James' eyes shot up to stare into hers and a flush appeared on her cheeks.

"Are you sure we haven't met somewhere before?" Her soft brown eyes darted around his face, trying to pick out even the smallest detail, but he knew she wouldn't be able to find anything. James' hair was much longer than Harrys, pulled into a ponytail, and he had brown eyes. There was no way Ginny would be able to connect him with Harry Potter, and he wasn't disappointed. With a muttered apology, she stepped back. "You reminded me so much of someone I once knew," she said by way of explanation.

"Ginny, this is James Evans," Fred introduced, stepping up and positioning himself strategically so that his sister and James both had to step back even further away from each other, "I'm not sure how he can be familiar, cos George and I only met him two days ago."

"Right," Ginny said, nodding as though trying to convince herself, "Nice to meet you, James. _You_," she continued, spinning to face her brother as though she just remembered that he wasn't supposed to be there, "what are _you _doing here then, if you had no idea I lived here?"

"You live here?" Fred looked stunned, both eyebrows disappearing into his hair. "That was a good choice, Gin-gin, we never even considered looking for you here, of all places. But you know," a distinctly annoyed expression passed over his face, "did you have to leave with even leaving a bloody letter? Do you have any idea how worried we all were? Until the letter you sent almost two weeks later, we had no idea if you were even alive!"

"If you'll remember," Ginny scowled, turning away gesturing for Fred and James to follow, "at the time, I couldn't care less what the rest of you thought. Answer my question, _Frederick_, what are you doing here?"

"Fred was just showing me the place where James and Lily Potter died," James told her, before wincing and Fred elbowed him sharply in the stomach. Although she didn't stop walking, Ginny turned to look at him curiously, forcing him to ignore the pain in his side and school his features into a hopefully neutral expression. "Is something the matter, Ms Weasley?"

"Don't call me that," Ginny admonished, snorting, "You sound like one of my professors! Just call me Ginny. And to answer your question, I just found it unusual that you know this place as a result of the death of the Potters, rather than because it was where Harry Potter defeated Voldemort."

_Ah, _James thought, now understanding the _I-can't-believe-you _look that Fred was sending his way. "Well I always figured that it was something his parents did, rather than Harry Potter, since he was just a baby at the time," He made up, hoping that the words would satisfy her. Fortunately, it seemed they did, and the faintest trace of a smile appeared on her lips.

"You know, Harry would have been glad to hear such a view," she said, facing the direction she was walking in again, "He gets so annoyed when people worship him for something he couldn't even remember."

Before James could respond, Fred interrupted. "Ginny, do you still get _The Prophet_?"

Despite the fact that James couldn't see her face, he could tell, somehow, that Ginny was rolling her eyes, and barely restrained a chuckle. "Oh yeah, of course I am! Where would I get the galleons to pay for it, you dolt?"

Fred looked appropriately abashed to have forgotten to consider that, but James saw an opportunity to further solidify his persona.

"Wait, do you mean you've left the Wizarding World behind completely, Ginny?" He asked. It he was honest with himself, he was in fact truly curious about her answer. Ahead of him, Ginny nodded as the trio rounded a corner.

"My parents – no, my family – and I don't have too different a view on certain events that I just had to get away from them."

"About Harry Potter?" He pressed. He didn't even know why he wanted so badly to have her express her views, having already gotten the gist of it from Fred and George.

"Yeah. Let me guess, Fred and George told you?" Before she could say anything else, Fred broke in again.

"Ginny, if you don't get _The Prophet _anymore, then you didn't see the series of articles they were running almost half a year ago right?"

James had no idea what Fred was talking about, but he could see the tension that had entered Ginny's small frame at his words. Her shoulders and next became rigid and the fluidity fell from her limbs until her movements became almost mechanical.

"He's not dead, Fred," she announced in a clear, carefully controlled voice. James realised with a jolt what articles _The Prophet_ must have been running – half a year ago, a high security prisoner named Harry Potter had escaped from Azkaban, and the matter had been hushed up. "I don't care what you say, or what the Ministry's official line is, I know he can't possibly have died in there. Harry wouldn't let it happen."

"How can you be so sure?" asked James before he could stop himself.

"I _know_ him," Ginny insisted, shaking her head ever so slightly but still not looking at either of them, "I _know_ how determined he can be for justice, and I _know_ he's innocent. He wouldn't die, he'd want to clear his name."

Both Fred and James opened their mouths to reply, but Ginny cut them off before they could utter a single sound. "We're here," she said simply.

'Here' was a simple, one story house in town. There was a low, redbrick wall, in which a mailbox had been set. Beside it hung a copper 17 and, on its other side, a small metal gate. A slightly curved, narrow, paved path led from the sidewalk to the front door. The front yard on either side was covered in a layer of neatly tripped lawn, encircled by a ring of bright flowers.

It was an ordinary house in the truest sense of the word. It was the type of property that James could imagine in any suburban street all across the world, even, amazingly enough, in Privet Drive. Yet despite this, it wasn't _boring_, it didn't ooze of dullness and conformity like his Aunt's and Uncle's house. Rather, it was the sort of place he had imagined himself living in after he graduated from Hogwarts, perhaps not for the rest of his life as he would probably have wanted to expand, but for a while, at least.

After a brief search, Ginny found her keys and unlocked the door, leading the way inside. As the three of them passed the kitchen, Ginny dropped off the groceries she was carrying on the counter and gestured for Fred and James to do the same. They obliged, and followed her to the living room.

"Sit," she commanded, poiting at a plump, comfortable looking couch. "Do you guys want something-" but she never got to finish her sentence, because at that moment, something large and white burst into the room, hooting loudly. All three of them looked up instinctively and James' breath caught in his throat.

Hedwig had lost none of her grace during the six years he had been away. Her wings beat through the air effortlessly as she silently circled above him. James could tell she was watching him as she flew, her eyes fixed on the strange intruder in what must have been her home, and felt a sense of relief. He had thought the worst, had expected her to be gone, but here she was, still alive and healthy. Obviously, she had gone to live with Ginny after the trial, and Harry could think of no better place she could have been.

After almost half a minute in which all three of them – Fred, James and Ginny – watched the owl in silence, it seemed Hedwig managed to make a decision. With ease, she altered her flight path, diving down and alighting gently on James' knee. Her large, round, amber eyes gazed at him unflinchingly as she sidled up his leg. Harry withheld a chuckle at the awkwardness with which she moved – she was an owl, and clearly belonged in the air.

Nonetheless, he felt his chest construct painfully and heard each beat of his heart as loudly as though he was using a stethoscope as she half jumped, half flew onto his shoulder. She let out a low, soulful hoot that seemed hang suspended in the air for much longer than after she had stopped. Even though Harry had always thought of Hedwig to be as intelligent as any human, he had never thought she was capable of expressing such a deep emotion in her calls.

Hesitantly, he held out his left hand and ran it ever so gently down her warm, feathery back as she sidled even closer until she was right up against his cheek. Then, just like they used to, she rubbed her feathery head against him, her chest vibrating as she let out another low call. Both bird and human closed their eyes and revelled in their intimacy, the world around them fading into the background, completely forgetting they had visitors until –

"HEDWIG!" Ginny exclaimed, shattering the magic of the moment like glass into a thousand pieces. Both James and Hedwig swivelled to face her, to find her gazing at them with wide, startled brown eyes, her mouth open with shock at the familiarity between the two. Behind her, Fred looked like he understood somewhat, but held his tongue. What was there to say?

"Hedwig what is _with_ you? Have you met him before?" Ginny was asking, her eyes darting back and forth between the man and bird on her couch, "I've never seen you take to anyone so rapidly!"

James opened his mouth to respond, but all that he managed was the barest of croaks. He cleared his throat and wet his lips before trying again.

"Your owl is . . . amazing," he complimented, resuming his petting of Hedwig's feathers, "Sorry I couldn't help myself, I've always had a way with birds." It was, quite possibly in his opinion, the worse excuse he had ever come up with. Ginny opened and closed her mouth several times, apparently trying to form words, but it was clear she didn't know what to say. Fortunately, Fred chose at that moment to jump in and save the day.

"WELL!" he said in an overload loud and casual tone, "At least we know you're a good person, eh James? There's quite a history behind that owl, isn't there Gin? And we _know_ that Hedwig is a good judge of character!"

"What?" Ginny snapped, apparently still trying to wrap her mind around what she was seeing. Fred shoved her lightly with his foot. "Oh. Oh! Yes, forgive me James, but I've just never seen Hedwig acting this way with _anyone_ ever before! It's quite amazing, but I'm glad she likes you."

Ginny gave Hedwig a fond glance as she shook herself and went into the kitchen.

"You know, James, Hedwig used to be Harry's owl. I've been taking care of her ever since . . . well, you know."

"Really?" asked James, trying to sound interested when in reality his heart was pounding in his chest. He couldn't believe he just did that in front of Ginny, completely forgetting that there were in fact other people in the room, and yet, on the other hand, he really didn't care that much, not when he had just been reunited with his oldest, and most faithful friend.

"Yeah, she was!" Ginny was saying from the other room, "You guys want tea or something?"

Fred answered for the both of them that tea would be fine, so a couple of minutes later Ginny returned with a tray laden with three cups of hot tea. It was only when James picked his up that he realised, as far as he could remember at least, this was probably his first up of tea. At Hogwarts, he had always had Pumpkin Juice, and in Privet Drive and Azkaban, he had only ever been allowed water. Even when he had gone into Hogsmeade, he and his friends had drunk butterbeer, rather than tea.

"So," Ginny took a sip of her own tea and glaced around at her visitors. Despite her nonchalant attitude, he could tell that she was watching the both of them carefully. "what are you two _really_ doing here?"

Hedwig chose at this moment to rub herself against James one final time, and looked into his eyes. James knew that she understood. He wasn't Harry, not right now at least, and so she gave him a once over and soared out the window.

"I told you," Fred sounded exasperated, "I was showing James around Godric's Hollow! Don't worry, we weren't looking for you, Ginny, because we didn't even think you could possibly be here."

"And no one else better ever think that, if you know what's good for you," she warned, raising a finely arched eyebrow in her brother's direction, "Anyway, I _know_ you're lying. You don't even know Godric's Hollow that well, why would _you_ be the one to play tour guide to someone you supposedly met only a few days ago? And while you're at it, how about you tell me why you two were poking around Harry's house?"

"Excuse me?" Fred started, but Ginny cut him off.

"I saw the two of you coming out of there." She told him blandly. "So spill it. Who or what were you looking for if it wasn't me?"

Fred looked at James and shrugged helplessly. "We might as well tell her, she's not going to believe anything other than the truth."

James glared at him, trying to convey that he had no intention of involving Ginny Weasley in whatever mess he had found, but if Fred understood the signal, he ignored it.

"Ginny, what I'm going to tell you can't leave this room, ok? You have to promise."

"Oh boy," Ginny muttered to herself, rolling her eyes, "If I had a galleon for everything those words got either you and George, or me, into trouble, I'd be richer than Harry . . ."

George gave her a _do-you-want-to-know-or-not-look_ and she gave an apologetic nod. "Okay, fine, I promise."

"Good," Fred said, taking a deep breath. "Alright, here it is. We," he gestured to James and himself, "believe that there is more to Harry's supposed crime than what the Ministry has told us."

"You don't say," Ginny commented dryly, raising her cup to her lips and looking curiously at James, who had sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. He did _not_ approve of this, revealing everything to Ginny, and he wasn't even sure why.

"Gin, there wasn't any evidence to support Harry's side of the story! ANYWAY," Fred continued before Ginny could retort, either angrily or sarcastically as James knew she was eager to do, "we were given a tip off that led us here, to Harry's house. That's all we can tell you."

Ginny looked at her brother, but she couldn't read his expression, as his face was carefully blank. James, on the other hand, was easy to read – he was annoyed.

"What's your problem then?" she asked him, turning her gaze onto him.

"I. . . its nothing against you, Ginny," James explained, leaning forwards to take a drink and sighing, "but I don't think Fred should have told you anything, especially as we, ourselves, don't actually know what's going on yet."

The redheaded girl rolled her eyes. "He hasn't told me anything," she told him, tilting her head, "nothing that I didn't already know, anyway. I know Harry's innocent, it's those idiots out there that need the convincing." She gestured out the window.

"And as for your supposed tip off, well, it sounds like you guys haven't really found much, have you? Some tip off it turned out to be."

"Actually," said Harry before he could stop himself, "we've discovered that there were more than my – I mean there were more than James, Lily and Harry Potter in the house when Voldemort attacked." He had no idea why he'd told her that. All he knew was that he really didn't like the tone in which she had said 'you guys haven't really found much', as though she thought they were wasting their time. They weren't, after all were they? He couldn't make heads or tails of what he _did _discover, but at least he discovered something.

It seemed that this piece of information caught Ginny's interest. Perhaps it was simply the fact that, after all this time, they had something to go on.

"What do you mean there were other people staying in the house?" she asked, glancing between Fred and James. "Surely if there were others there, Voldemort would have killed them?"

Fred gave James a disgruntled glance that said quite clearly, _hypocrite._

"Yeah," he answered, "except we know that at least one of the extra people was a child, because there was a second crib in a bedroom there. We don't know if that's the only extra person though."

"But surely the baby's parents would be there?" Harry interrupted, raising his eyebrows at Fred, "I mean, what kind of parents would let their kid stay alone with someone else's family, especially when that family is number one on Voldemort's hit list?"

"But if the house was under Fidelius, then they would have expected that house to be safe!" Fred returned, setting down his empty cup on the table, "I mean think about it, what's safer than a house that doesn't exist until you're told where it is?"

"Actually," he continued, his eyes going wide, looking as though his mind was moving at a hundred miles an hour, "if they needed to hide their kid, why didn't they use a Fidelius Charm? It's safer, right? Which means that they _couldn't_ cast the charm, for some reason. The only reason _I _can think of is if they are already involved in a Fidelius – the secret keeper's secret with erode the charm away, that's why you can't protect someone with the charm and then be the secret keeper for you're secret keeper!"

James thought he understood what Fred was getting at, but he picked up a cushion from the couch beside him and threw it at the redheaded boys head. Unfortunately, he was a seeker, not a chaser, and so he missed.

"Oi, what was that for?" Fred cried, annoyed.

"It's a great theory, but there's one problem . . . Wormtail – Pettigrew – was secret keeper you idiot! And I doubt he had a family."

"Oh," Fred looked disappointed that his theory had been blown clear out of the water, "yeah, you're right."

"If finding out who was inside Potter Cottage at the time is what's important," Ginny said, standing abruptly, "then I know who you guys _might_ be able to talk to."

Both Fred and James turned to look at her, surprised. "Who?" they asked at the same time.

"She's supposedly knew the Potters quite well, and the Dumbledores, too," Ginny told them as she walked out, "Bathilda Bagshot! Lives only a few houses down from Potter Cottage. That's the best person I can think of to ask, apart from Remus and, well," she trailed off awkwardly.

"Hang on, what happened to Remus Lupin?" James asked, kicking himself for not having thought of his Dad's old friend sooner, but Ginny merely shrugged uncomfortably.

"None of us really knows, he sort of disappeared when Harry went to prison," she told him. "Anyway, you guys are staying for lunch right? Afterward I'll take you two to see Bathilda."

James looked at Fred, who gave a nod.

"Sorry, Gin," Fred said apologetically, "I would love lunch, but after that I've got to get back to George and the shop. Ha . . . James can go though."

Ginny turned to look at James for a decision. But of course, what other choice would he make.

"Yeah." He nodded his agreement. "Let's go see Bathilda Bagshot."

**A/N: Another Chapter, this time on time for once! :D**

**To be honest, I am my own worst critic, but I don't believe I did that well on the dialogue for this chapter, especially in characterisation, it felt a bit flat, so tell me what you think!**

**LuckyCat1: Well, you never know do you? What do _you _think happened? I'm not saying anything right now but I can't wait till I can reveal the truth ;P!**

**Veritahpgw: Death, or Fate? Hmm...that's an interesting _guess. _I can understand why you would think that she is Death, or Fate, but I can tell you now that she is actually a _very_ real person, someone who has changed, but is in one of the HP books :D anyone else want to take another guess?**

**Nesciamema: There you go :P not a cliff hanger this time, sort of. I won't be putting in a cliff hanger every chapter, but I will be hopefully ending them in a way that will ALWAYS make you want to see the next one :D Tell me what you think, because for me this chapter wasn't as actionpacked as I thought it would be...but action is going to be picking up next chapter though!**

**Jewels46: OOOOOOOHHHH. Wow. I need to read over some of the stuff I write more, lol. Thanks for the review, I didn't actually pick up AT ALL how that part could be taken, its my fault. Ive changed it now, if you want to see it again, otherwise what I meant was this - None of the Weasley's went to Harry's 'Funeral', because they thought he was guilty (and Ginny had left ages ago, and so she didn't know about it). Although she lives in Godric's Hollow, the lack of any people attending would have meant that it would have been over very quickly, so she missed it. Fred and George didn't go because they didn't wantto cause problems with their family.**

**HOWEVER, they DID come visit his grave, once. AFTER the funeral. I've changed the chapter to clarify that now, so thanks for picking that up!**

**To all my readers, I hope you enjoyed this chapter (sorry if you didn't, promise it's going to get more interesting again, but I really couldn't leave this one out!). The next chapter will be out in a week and a half, as I have four exams in five days next week D:**

**SO, see you all next time!**

**PowerOfOne**


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